The small village in Pomerania in northern Germany provided a peaceful haven for the childhood years of author Ingeborg E. Ryals. But in 1939 the beginning of World War II irrevocably changed her idyllic life. In this memoir Ryals shares her first hand experiences as the war began to affect every aspect of her life. At the age of fifteen, she had to dig trenches behind the front lines and spent many days hiding in fear of the Soviet Army as it invaded and pillaged her village. Diphtheria and typhoid epidemics swept the country. She survived a bout of diphtheria but lingered near death for days on end with typhoid fever. There was little food to sustain them. At the age of eighteen, she was shipped to a labor camp operated by the Russian military on an island in the Baltic Sea. Ryals also recounts her escape and her eventual marriage to an American. With photos included, The Tears of War narrates a very real story of the tragedy of war. It shows Ryals' perseverance and her ability to overcome obstacles in an effort to survive.

The Tears of War

By Ingeborg E. Ryals

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2012 Ingeborg E. Ryals
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4759-3273-7

Chapter One

The beginning of the war brought few changes to our way of life. We continued to work the land, celebrate weddings, welcome the birth of a child, and send the deceased off on their last journey. But gradually we were beginning to feel the effects of the war as it began to encroach upon and change our way of life. Daily, the radio programs were repeatedly interrupted with special reports that brought us the latest news bulletins from the front lines, recounting the victorious feats of our troops. At day's end, the station always concluded its broadcast with a popular vocalist, Lale Anderson, singing "Lili Marlene" in her deep, throaty voice. It was a very nostalgic song that was reminiscent of the time. It was the song of a soldier late at night bidding his ladylove good-bye, under a lamppost in front of his casern, before going off to war. She promises to wait at the same place, same time, under the lamppost for his return.

It was my mother, Anna's, favorite song. Every evening she listened to it faithfully before turning off the radio and retiring for the night. She was a slender woman with fine facial features and was of medium height. Her shoulder-length hair was not one of her better features. It was very fine and did not take well to perms, which always left her hair in a somewhat frizzy state. I think she would have looked far more attractive if she had let her hair grow out, braided it, and gathered it up in a bun, but perms were all the rage then. Long, braided hair was on the way out. Therefore, my mother continued with her frizzy hairstyle. She had a mellow personality and was slow to anger, but if you really tried her patience, then her temperamental side emerged. Once when an ornery old neighbor provoked her to no end, she all but smacked him over the head with a broomstick.

Life in the village was a lonely one for her. Now in her thirties, on rare occasions she would attend a dance in one of the neighboring villages. It was a far cry from the big city life she had become accustomed to in her early twenties when she followed her older sister to Berlin. Neither of them had wanted to stay in the village and marry a farmer. Instead, both of them moved to the big city and went to work for an electronics firm.

She eventually met and fell in love with my father, a dashing army officer. I am sure she thought they would live happily ever after, but soon after I was born, her mother was diagnosed with stomach cancer, an incurable illness. Since there was no one to look after her needs, she volunteered to move temporarily back to the village to take care of her while my father, of course, had to stay with his army unit in Berlin. We traveled back and forth to see my father, but after my brother Kurt was born, the trips to Berlin became less frequent. My grandmother was bedridden by then and had to be cared for around the clock. By the time she passed away at home at the age of sixty-two, my mother almost devoted two years of her life to her mother's care.

The long separation ultimately took a toll on my parents' relationship. After seeing my father a few more times in Berlin, they separated and went their own ways. Though he continued to support us, we had very little contact with him. After the age of five, I saw very little of my father. My mother decided to stay on in the village where she had grown up. I guess it was of some comfort to live out her days among the people she had known all of her life instead of in the big city among strangers. I am sure single motherhood was not the kind of life she had once envisioned, but life can be very unforgiving sometimes, and the choices we make while young tend to have far-reaching consequences.

At the age of thirty-six, her social life was very limited until she met a very nice young man named Ernst at a local dance. After a courtship of several months, they eventually got married. By the time their son Gerhardt was born, in January of 1941, Ernst had already been drafted at the age of thirty-nine and gone off to war. There was hardly an able-bodied man left in the village. Almost every man had been drafted. Some of them were wounded or missing in action, while others had lost their lives on the battlefield. Many people wore black those days, the color of mourning.

Chapter Two

As the war continued, we were issued ration cards for certain commodities, but since we lived in a farm region, food was plentiful, especially fresh vegetables, meat, and dairy products.

The government brought in forced labor from countries occupied by our troops, mainly France, Russia, and Poland. We desperately needed help with our farm work since most of our men were off fighting this dreadful war. The farmer provided room and board, but the workers received no compensation. Since their movements were not restricted, they were allowed to mingle freely with their fellow countrymen on evenings and Sundays after work. They seemed to adapt well to their new way of life, even playing games with the local children in their free time; however, a few ladies in the next village were a little too friendly with the charming, good-looking Frenchmen and promptly had their locks shaved off as punishment. It was frowned upon for women to socialize with them on an intimate basis.

Most of our best horses were gone, confiscated by the government to replace those lost in battle. Usually on short notice, cavalry officers in their smart-looking uniforms and polished boots showed up at our village, where the farmers had been instructed to gather at the schoolhouse with their prized horses. The animals underwent a thorough examination before they were selected for military service. In the end, the farmers were left with a few sway-backed mares and young colts. It was a real hardship on them since most of the heavy work, like plowing and tilling the land, was still done by horse-drawn machinery.

It would even affect our little volunteer fire department, which solely consisted of a horse-drawn wagon outfitted with a large tank. Parallel handlebars were attached to each end of the tank. It was so antiquated that it still had to be manually operated. In teams of three, the men positioned themselves at the front and back end of the tank, taking hold of the handlebars and moving them in rapid succession up and down. This created sufficient pressure to force the water out of the tank and into the attached hose. Since the mayor had the only telephone in the village, each volunteer had to be notified individually in case of a fire. By the time they had all assembled, hitched the horses to the wagon, filled the tank with water, and rushed to the site of the fire, in most instances, the volunteers arrived to find the building already consumed by the flames. One tank of water was of little help in a roaring blaze.

Such was the case when lightning struck Herr Bock's barn. Since it was filled with hay and straw, the fire spread rapidly. All efforts failed to save the barn and its contents, including a large pig that Herr Bock was fattening up over the summer to butcher in the fall. Most of our fires were caused by lightning strikes in the summer months. The thunderstorms were often quite severe. At times, we could hear the rumbling of thunder throughout the night.

On the outskirts of the next village, rows of single-story barracks were constructed out of wood with concrete flooring. The buildings were in stark contrast to the quaint, old dwellings of yesteryear, many of them built of brick and stone...