Looking back. In Sept. 1943 we - along with many other Mennonites - left our home in the Ukraine and fled westward with the retreating German Armies. After six months- in March 1944 - we found temporary refuge in the Warthegau - an area that today is part of western Poland. Less than a year later we again fled further west into Germany. We were fortunate to come to Schleswig - Holstein in northern Germany and as it turned out we could not run any further - we had run out of room.

Here we experienced the end of W.W. 11 and here we would live for the next three and a half years. For most people being a refugee is a very negative experience, but for me, the time in Schleswig - Holstein was a time that I remember fondly and in the short space of three and a half years it became " home" to me - the Heimat I had never known. Our experiences in the Ukraine - the place of our birth- - had not been good. Under Communism we were the children of the " enemies of the people" and we had lived in fear bordering on terror. We felt only a very short-lived sense of security after the Germans occupied this area. Then when we had to flee, there was the constant fear of falling into the hands of the Russians again. Even during the short stay in the Warthegau we never felt safe - there was always the feeling that this was not permanent, that something bad was about to happen. I wonder how much of this was learned behavior from our mother who had a tendency to see the dark side of things - often with good reason - given her experiences.

Now the war was over and we had survived, we no longer worried about bombs or being shot at, we could stay in one place - there was a sense of permanence. Ration cards provided food and clothing, even if both were in short- supply, but enough to survive. We stayed in one place long enough to make friends, to go to school for a full term, to experience a routine. We learned their customs and habits, and I quickly learned their low German dialect. We were also very fortunate that the people who had to take us in - the Richard Mehlert family - were most kind, generous, and understanding in dealing with their uninvited 4cguests.

In school we had an exceptional teacher whose dedication to his profession was remarkable. His teaching methods in some areas far ahead of his time - he had a lasting influence on my life. It was a time when many of us were refugees, most families lived in one room, food was scarce and many had family members missing but there was a feeling that we were all in this together and that, somehow, made it seem easier. All these experiences gave me a sense of belonging and of being accepted.

It is odd in a way that even after 50 years when I met some of my former schoolmates there was still a feeling of friendship, a closeness and certainly pleasure at meeting again. We reminisced and sang deep into the next morning and it again brought to mind the saying "often the good times remembered were hard times". I realize that this too has something to do with our age, and time and distance play their part as well in that we tend to forget the difficulties, or at least they grow dimmer, and the good times appear even better with time. I wonder if this is not nature’s way of coping?

We have been back to visit in this area a number of times and every time I feel as if I am coming home. For me this is " Heimat "- a concept I find difficult to explain in English. I think it is a feeling of affinity, of belonging, a place where I was accepted. It is also about the culture, the language, the songs, the customs and habits of the people, the countryside and not least the experiences I had there and the people we lived with. When one of our children once asked what "Heimweh" meant I did not have a ready answer either but I tried to explain it this way: "Heimweh is something you only feel when you are away from home - a feeling of nostalgia, a yearning for the past, or sometimes I think for a past that really was not there but really is only a yearning for a simpler time, that only exists in our mind.

When we lived at Stahls I often went fishing with Hans Georg Pick a refugee from East Prussia who lived next door on the Rosch farm. He was my age and after an initial confrontation we became good buddies. He taught me how to fish simply by tying a hook to a line with a bottle cork about four feet up from the hook and then all this tied to a long stick - a very basic fishing rod but it worked. We fished for eel and sometimes even managed to catch a few - they would then be put into the rainwater barrel and kept alive until there were enough for a meal. Frau Stahl used to say that eel had to squirm in the frying pan to be really good. The best part about fishing was just to lie on your back and watch the clouds go by and jump into the canal on a hot day - simply to do nothing - to have no responsibility - not to be afraid of the Russians coming.

It is hard today to understand that we still had such a fear of the Russians but at that time it was still very real. At the end of the war many German soldiers in the area simply discarded their weapons by throwing them into the canals and ditches. So it was that often when we looked for something to do someone would suggest that we look for weapons under the many bridges and most of the time we would find some. When I think back I shudder at what could have happened. We hauled out hand grenades, belts of ammunition, many rifles and on one occasion even a complete machine gun.

While we lived at Stahls - shortly after the war - an order came that all weapons in possession of the German population were to be collected and delivered to the town of Wilster and this included sidearms, binoculars, rifle and shotguns. I'm not sure why Herr Stahl was the one to deliver this stuff but it stayed in his barn overnight and the next day it was delivered as ordered. The night before I secretly "borrowed" a set of binoculars and went to our favorite swimming spot and showed it to my friends.

It so happened that on the farm next to the bridge were some tall poplar trees - it also happened that the teenage girls used to swim about a km. or less from this farm on a somewhat secluded spot behind the small dike and it just so happened that most of the girls did not own a bathing suit. I'm not sure whose idea it was - certainly not mine -but by putting all these things together it turned out to be an educational evening.

Agriculture here means dairy farming. The land of the Wilstermarsch lies below sea level .When we lived there it was drained by many canals and small ditches . Almost every farm had its own windmill that was used to pump the water into larger canals. The large main dikes along the coast had gates built into them "Schleusen" and in this way the water would flow into the Elbe river. With the receding tide the gates will swing open to allow the water to flow into the Elbe river and they close with the incoming tide to keep the water out.

It is often called " the land where the west wind blows" and today many huge wind generators dot the landscape - actually quite unsightly. Then it seemed very peaceful, very green and quite prosperous. Sometimes on warm summer evenings we sat on the porch and Herr Mehlert would get out his accordion and we sang along - mostly " Volkslieder ". Most cows in the pastures lay down at dusk and small strips of condensation would rise above the canals and ditches. Sometimes it was so quiet you could hear the voices from neighouring farms.

Herr Mehlert passed away before we came back to visit in 1985 -1 wish I could have told him how I felt - what good memories I had - I think he would have liked that. Words like - peaceful, serene, verdant, pastoral etc. come to mind when I think back to those occasions. On the other hand , for many adults - faced with the daily struggle to find the necessities for survival - those days may have been anything but ideal. I came to be very fond of the land and its people and even today when "progress" has changed so many things - not always for the better - I still feel at home there. Hard times but good memories - seems like a paradox - but sometimes true.