If one discounts the evasive zigs and zags the merchant boat, crowded with refugees, made in order to avoid being sunk by Soviet aircraft during the trip from Ventspils, Latvia to the seaport city in Danzig, Germany back in October 1944 the distance was a conservative nautical 500 kilometers. Most of the pre-war generations did not dream that this was the last time they will see their homeland. Once on German soil it was mostly travel by foot for months, plus a train ride on a couple of occasions, from Danzig to Greiz, Germany, the Google distance is another 786 kilometers. Since that time Danzig has had its name changed to Gdansk, now a part of Poland.

I’ve written on LOL before about my WWII refugee experiences to escape the repeat onslaught of the soviets occupying Latvia, as my mother, having lost relatives during the first soviet occupation, did not wish to experience another “Baigais gads.” Most of you are familiar with the physical and psychological scars Stalin’s war machine left on Latvia during the first occupation. In order to escape the Soviet army pressing down from the east we mostly walked and endured: masses of refugees, bombing, strafing, civilian casualties en route, eating (when skimpy food was available) with the aid of a roadside campfire, scrapping for potatoes in open fields, otherwise starving and sleeping on the side of the road, in a barn or in the woods. And all that, included the winter months.

Despite the countless business, vacation trips and living in Europe, Greiz was one town in my past experiences I’ve never had a chance for a return trip, primarily because it was East Germany. So, I placed it on my list this time.

On this trip, 67-years later, the distance to Greiz was longer, 1,657 kilometers, as Daina and I took an all-land route with our VW minibus; starting in Riga, heading south through Lithuania and its EU’s border opening between Russia’s Kaliningrad and Belarus, with Poland. It’s a mere 103 km land connection with the EU to the south for the Baltic countries. Keep in mind that Poland once shared a border with Latvia prior to the Soviet occupation. This time it took three days instead of months even with a heat wave that was sweeping through Eastern and Central Europe.

Passing through Poland

Upon crossing the border into Poland we encountered hilly, twisting and curving roads that where jammed with trucks. These were no super highways. They were just single lanes each way. The truckers were aggressive, relentlessly riding the tail of the front vehicles. One could not help but notice that the area was a trucker’s paradise with trucker’s hotels/motels, beer joints, casinos, etc. set up roadside to reap the hard earnings from this rowdy bunch.

In traveling North to South through Poland, from Lithuania to Saxony (part of former East Germany), there were no expressways most of the way, making driving somewhat more torturous. Those expressways that they do have go from east to west. Besides fixed radars that were all over the place and Poland has more rotary circles than there are found anywhere else in the world. Like in Latvia, they also skimp on directional signs.

Finding a hotel/motel to stay was not a straight forward task in Poland, as not every place was acceptable and then most do not take credit cards. We did explore the resort town of Augustow, once part of the disputed territory between Lithuania and Poland. The infrastructure vestiges of WWII and Poland’s one time captive nation status of Soviet Union were still noticeable. We moved on. Eventually, just outside of Grajewo, we came across a countryside three star hotel with a restaurant that met our prerequisites.

The next day we endured more of Poland’s traffic that weaved through the many closely clustered small towns. Heading southwest we bypassed Warsaw, then Lodz and zeroed in on Wroclaw (German: Breslau). This was former German territory evident by the infrastructure, the country homes along the way were no longer clustered like in northern Poland. Also, there was a shift from wood structure to stone structure. Many parts of the city looked damaged and dilapidated. At the city’s gateway, however, was a high-rise four star hotel, Town Hotel, which was worth every star, and we settled in for the night. It was the one we choose from among 6 that we had checked out along the way. Most did not accept credit cards.

Destination point – Greiz

Early in the morning, having traversed Poland, we finally connected with expressway E40, which had previously un-encountered speed limits of 140 km/hr! We crossed the border into Germany, zipped passed Dresden and Chemnitz and then through back roads arrived in Greiz in no time at all. Well, it was much faster than we had been able to cover distance before in Poland.

Greiz is not found on most maps, yet it’s called a “city of princes,” a small town with 23,000 inhabitants nestled between rolling hills with a castle on most of them. Back in 1945 an estimated 150 Latvians individually and in family groups sought out Greiz as an end destination to escape the Soviet juggernaut. Apparently they had information that the area would be occupied by the American forces. Sure enough in April 1945 the Americans and British units pushed themselves past Greiz to Chemnitz. But that was where the Western Allied military ambition and FDR’s political appeasement of Stalin differed and the Western Allies were required to withdraw their forces and let the Soviets reap the unearned spoils. Greiz became part of East Germany.

(Cont.)

As a three year old, I recall Hotel Greiz, where we stayed on the second floor and slept in our clothes so that when the air raid sirens sounded, we were ready to slip into our shoes, run down stairs, run down the street, across the river bridge and seek out a bomb shelter that was already crowded. This scenario was repeated a number of times. One time while in the shelter the bombs fell close; the shelter rocked, the lights flickered and people screamed and gasped. When the sirens signaled the end of the air raid we exited the bomb shelter to find that the bridge we had crossed had been hit. The next two bridges had also been destroyed, as we found, while seeking a way back across the river. A ways down the river we were able to cross a fourth bridge with the aid of planks set between bridge spans and with the aid of local police.

Surprisingly, so near the end of the war, the German postal system was working. My mother was able to stay in communication with my father, who was in the Latvian Legion, somewhere in Poland, but always on the move. He regularly sent her his military pay, which is a reason we were able to stay at Hotel Greiz. And, it is quite apparent that the Deutschmark tendered still had on-going value.

I’m glad that I was able to return to Greiz, as there are still many moments to remember and many more stories, including how we escaped to the west across the border, that I will save for some rainy day. Hotel Greiz was no longer there, the sidewalks on which we ran to seek shelter looked the same, but somehow seem different than in other towns, the bridges across the river are new, the bomb shelter near the bridge was nowhere to be found and the Hauptbahnhof was larger than in 1945. Despite the changes I was able to identify with the character and the features of this princely town.

My home town – Wurzburg in Bavaria

The drive from Greiz to Wurzburg in northern Bayern was a short haul compared to the distances covered in previous days. Besides it was mostly on autobahn. We got caught in the early morning rush-hour traffic heading into the Wurzburg. It prevented me from seeing the red poppies in the wheat fields. I consider Wurzburg my town and when I have the opportunity I pay it a visit.

Wurzburg is a romantic and exciting city with 133,000 inhabitants. The crusaders used to gather here before their march to Jerusalem. Heavily bombed and destroyed in WWII it has fully recovered and more so. Being in the West, it has had 45 more years to recover and build up than its East German counterparts.

In travelling from Saxony to Bavaria one could not help but notice the transition from Protestant to Catholic church architecture.

It was in the Spring of 1946 when my family arrived in Wurzburg in an open cattle car from the Kiel DP camp in the British sector of West Germany. At the time we arrived I did not get a chance to go to Wurzburg’s central DP camp, but was instead whisked off to a former military hospital, manned by Latvian doctors, in the northern Wurzburg DP camp for 8 weeks because I had contracted the whooping cough. This was despite that I did not feel sick at all and spent the days with my parents exploring Wurzburg, its country side and the Main River.

Anyhow, Wurzburg is my town and we lived there until the summer of 1949 before emigrating from W. Germany to USA.

There were more than 5,000 Latvians at the Wurzburg central DP camp. The camp represented Latvians at their best. They had organized their own social infrastructure very quickly: school system (primary and secondary schools), police force, churches, health system, distribution network; social, cultural and sports activities, summer camps, etc.

Physically the camp was structured around the administrative and the residential sections. The last consisted of apartment complexes, some that had been heavily damaged during the bombing raids. Just outside of the camp was a block of heavily damaged apartment buildings, which were occupied make-shift by Latvian legionnaires recently released from POW camps but who were not authorized to stay in the regular camp by the American military authorities. They had been “screened out.” Despite all that some legionnaires found employment at the DP camp as teachers and in other administrative and medical functions. Of course the legionnaires were not forgotten by the rest of the Latvian DP community, as they did cater and looked after their well-being.

Today there are no plaques to commemorate the DP camp and the large Latvian community that thrived in Wurzburg. It lives only in the memories of the Latvians that once lived there and that will fade away in time. One has to know where the DP camp was situated to find it. The border configurations of the camp have not changed and most of the old stone walls, the streets and building locations, although newly constructed, remain in place. The administrative section now houses the “Bayerische Bereitschafts Polizei.” The stately yellow colored three storied stucco building with the clock tower that was used by the Latvian elementary school is still there. The adjacent buildings replacing the Latvian gymnasium have been newly constructed to tastefully match the classic features of the existing buildings. The residential and the legionnaire sections have new four storied apartments on the same foundations the DP apartment buildings were located. The open fields that were once covered with shell castings and bullets and housed a huge 20-seat “out house” now contain commercial and light manufacturing buildings.

(Cont.)

Wurzburg is a bustling city where Jāņi was one time celebrated on the banks of Main River. It is worth a visit and offers Marienburg fortress, Kapelle, Residence, many restored churches in town, plenty of restaurants and a town life that does not die when the clock strikes the midnight hour. It’s a wine and beer region to boot.

Some minuses to note: there is only one place in the entire city to exchange currency and that is at the main Sparkasse bank. Its branches, other banks and the Information centers are clueless where to exchange currency. In town the parking is difficult. Not all, even three star hotels, have in-room internet available. The city is also willing to sacrifice its green parks for commercial structures. In this regard Riga stands out among many European cities with it parks and greenery.

Amberg - a fairy tale town

After three days in Wurzburg, where we also observed a wine festival and a tingle-tangel, we drove to Amberg, in the direction of the Czech border. The town with a population of 45,000 was fortunate to escape the ravages of WWII. Amberg is totally surrounded by medieval fortified walls, a dry mote and has the Vile River passing through the town.

About a kilometer away on a hill, outside of the old town is a place called “Pond Barracks,” which right after the war was another DP camp that had many Latvians. Some of them were LOL participants, as we learned during the DP series of discussions back in 2001.

I was stationed at the Pond Barracks in Amberg with the 3rd Reconnaissance Squadron of the 2nd Armored Calvary during 1966 – 1968. The mission of the 1,200 troops based there, and in various smaller posts closer to the Czechoslovakian – West German border, was to delay any aggression across the border by the Soviet forces.

At least once a month there was a NATO wide alert, a military exercise that required the units to move towards the Czechoslovakian – West German border. It could be called at any hour of the day or night, but usually took place at night. It was required that at least one Troop was to clear the post in half an hour and the entire Squadron should be out of the gates within two hours. Of course, the entire town was up as the tanks, mechanized howitzers, scout carriers, infantry personnel carriers; mortar carriers, etc. rumbled and roared and the buildings shook. Besides we were not the only military unit in town. It also had two Panzer Brigades to add to the noise. However, not always did we end up on the border, as the units were more often than not, diverted to a nearby training area on the way to the border.

On the side, while based there I learned about the Latvian DP camp. While the town is off the beaten path, surprisingly a goodly number of Amberg’s inhabitants were Baltic-Germans. Some even spoke Latvian.

Things have changed, as I noticed during our three day visit to Amberg. In the early days the town had about a dozen pastry stores. Today, there were none to be found. They had been replaced mostly by various restaurants. There were no plaques commemorating the one time existence of the Latvian DP camp or that the US military had been garrisoned in Pond Barracks. One has to know where the camp was located in order to find it. Some of the 3-storied buildings at the camp from the DP days still stand, including the mess hall with the clock steeple. All had been renovated and now are used as social housing.

Flossenburg Concentration Camp

On our return trip to Latvia, we stopped at the Flossenburg Concentration Camp’s Memorial sight “Tai des Todes” (Valley of the Dead). It is about 6 km from the Czech border. Despite the vast size of the area dedicated to the memorial of the concentration camp inmates, it is not the easiest place to find, as there were only a few directional road signs. I only knew of this place from the time when I was in charge of the Czechoslovakian – West German border sector for two months in 1967. At that time the dedicated memorial area was much smaller, but more aesthetically designed.

Formerly there was a good size vertical head stone that had engraved on it the full Latvian coat of arms, Latvija, 2400 and Tēvzemei un Brīvībai. It had been replaced by a vertical slab that had only the inner part of Latvian coat of arms, but it was in color that seemed synthetically out of place, Latvija, 1123, Tevzemei un Brivibai (without the long vowels). Why were the numbers smaller? That’s because the Jews were totaling their people separately from the nations where they had been citizens. It was a way to avoid double counting the concentration camp victims.

(Cont.)

Passing through Czech Republic and Poland

Our first stop, where we also stayed the night, was in Pilzen, the center of Bohemia. It’s the home of Pilsner Urquell, the original pilsner and arguably the best. It is a historic city that is worth the visit.

The next day we headed to Prague and spent most of the day exploring the ins and outs of this intriguing city. It had been spared the WWII devastation of most European cities. That Daina had been to Prague before helped to orientate the sightseeing. There are two parts to the old town, or two old towns on each side Vltava River. The old town in Tallinn, Estonia in many ways resembles Prague, but on a miniature scale. Next time I visit Prague I would plan to stay a few days.

From here our next objective was Kaunas, Lithuania. On the way there we did spend the night just outside of Warsaw on a super highway that was being constructed and at that time only had one lane. We stayed at a modern 100-room hotel with a modern restaurant, but the internet was only available in the lobby! We were the only guests there!

Kaunas – Lithuanian City

We arrived at Kaunas by nightfall and started looking for a hotel on the outskirts of Senamiestis (Old Town) at the point where the Nemunas and Neris Rivers flow together. After making a few loops around Naujamiestis and Žaliakalns we settled for Sandija motelis, on the Neris River, about 1-1/2 clicks from the old town.

At the turn of the 20th Century only 6% of the city’s population was Lithuanian. It was dominated by Jews (35%), Russians (26%) and Poles (23%). Besides, it was a small city with a population of 71,000. Today 93% of the city’s 379,000 inhabitants are Lithuanian. That’s a dramatic change culturally and socially.

While canvassing the old city, a deeply religious city, we walked the length of pedestrian streets: Vilniaus gatve and Laisves aleja. While both streets connect, the latter is considered one of the longest pedestrian streets in Europe. It’s a sleepy old town where restaurants on Vilniaus gatve are one next to each other with outside seating bidding potential customers to give it a try. The Laisves aleja has various stores and coffee shops that offer Danish, but nothing imaginative that you could call pastry. The natives are well behaved, it seems like they walk on their toes so as not to create any commotion. Certainly the showmanship you find in Rīga and say, in Wurzburg is missing.

In visiting Lithuania, I recommend Klaipeda over Kaunas for excitement.

After the two week tour, some of it on memory trail, other on trails not previously blazed, we made it back to Āgenskalns in Rīga.

Cheers, Ivars

Sveiki Ivar!

Thanks for the well-written retrospective.

I can relate to much of what you wrote.  I was born in the Wurzburg DP camp and also came down with the whooping cough there….perhaps I caught it from you or vice versa. My parents wound up staying in the camp until they closed it because my dad contracted tuberculosis and wasn’t cleared to move on. In fact my parents and I weren’t cleared to leave Germany until the eve of 1957, long after I had already started school in Germany and my parents had lived there for more than a dozen years.

I, too, have re-visited Wurzburg and found no traces or memorial markers of the historical camps when I visited. Yes, it’s a vibrant and bustling city once again.

For me, reliving these memories is not an academic exercise. It’s real and it’s painful.

Catharsis and understanding and the walking-sticks with which to move on are highly personal and individual for each of us who has a unique story to tell.

Thanks for eloquently sharing your story.

Alberts

Ivars Graudiņs,

Interesting .For a broader more appreciaptive audience, perhaps send it in to be published in LAIKS.

Visu labu,

The “wider audience” thing - at first blush - is a nice-to-have bonus, but to my way of thinking the biggest payback for writing stories like this down is to connect with your own extended personal family and their descendants. How many times have we not witnessed someone come on to LOL clamoring for a straw of information - any clue whatsoever, from a just found picture, a cherished keepsake, a memento of some kind - to piece together what became of their forebears to fill in the gaps of their own family history.

It’s true that Ivars’ trip down memory lane is polished and well-written and therefore possibly of interest to a “broader and more appreciative” audience, but I can’t really imagine anyone being more appreciative for this family history than Ivars’ own family.

Too often, people with stories to tell like this beg off and don’t put them down on paper because of self-consciousness, “Es neesmu rasktnieks/rakstniece” (I’m not a writer) they might dismissively say to justify their reluctance.

Publication-worthiness is overrated when it comes to this sort of thing. Connecting with family members who starve for info about their relatives is a far more compelling reason to do this than any pursuit of impressing random others, even if they are fellow countrymen.

Neither of my parents were particularly gifted writers, though they were both highly intelligent and educated, and I dearly wish that they had penned more of their personal stories for me. I couldn’t have cared less if their stories had spelling errors galore, split infinitives, subject/verb disagreement or any other writing “mistakes”. My wife and I did the best we could with documenting oral histories to compensate.

Once again, Ivar, thanks for showing all of us the value of telling your personal story. No one will appreciate it more than your own family.

Al

Ivar,
Bruno has a very good suggestion,as to sharing it on Laiks.
After all,how many “True DP’s"are left?

Actually it is not as much my personal or exclusive story, as it is the story encountered by many Latvians. When the Soviet Russians invaded Latvia the second time some 240,000 Latvians fled west primarily because of the “Baigais gads” experience they had during the first Soviet occupation. The Latvian legionnaires get credit because they made it possible for so many to escape. They held the gates open to the very last day of the war, May 8, 1945. Eventually some 120,000 made it to the west the other half became casualties of the war, were caught and returned to the occupied Soviet Latvia or sent directly to Siberia. Some were executed and that was what most Latvians feared would happen. There was precedence to that Soviet Russian behavior. It did not need to be rational and it was not.

Why did I write about my first person experiences? There definitely was no thought of being the last DP left standing. I believe that sharing such historical episodes, such knowledge will bind the small nation of Latvians together. Comparatively, the current trip was not an ordeal; it had the air of adventure. It’s a contrast to the time of war that was started by Soviet Russia and Nazi Germany where so many suffered. We do not need to be pushovers for the Soviet invaders and harbor the mentality they impose on the Latvians, which still lingers today. The Latvians have their own lives to live and a culture to cherish that’s second to none. What we need to do is represent and defend our interests more often and more vigorously.

Cheers, Ivars

What a great travelogue/history, Ivar!  Thank you so much.  Amberg was part of my DP history; Wurzburg was part of my honeymoon/tour of my (Hersbruck) and my wife’s (Augsburg) birthplaces.  We did it in a Beemer on West German roads.  You - you are one brave old man!  Good to see you back on LOL.

ak

Sveiks Ivar!  Very well written and what a wonderful opportunity for you!  My cousin from Austria decided to drive back to Latvia this summer via Poland.  I was anxious to hear about his trip, but he didn’t say much, except that from now on, he’d be flying back.  I imagine there are many places in Poland that are worthwhile seeing, but like any other country, there are areas that are nothing to write home about- unremarkable.  It’s hard to imagine that any place would have more rotaries than good ol’ MA!  I’ve grown accustomed to them, but at first they seemed really daunting, like one of the old Lucy movies, where she spends the whole day, riding round and round the rotary, fearful of veering off…

My parents spent their DP days in Esslingen and Innsbruck.  When I was in Germany, I missed out on seeing that city, camp and even though I did go to Innsbruck, I was unable to find, Zamst, the little village and the cloister where I was born.  My mother and cousin did find it in later years, but like so much in life, things had changed so that they were unrecognizable. 

I still recall the thread that you initiated here on LOL,  about the DP camps which triggered people to write about their own experiences.  And I particularly enjoy hearing about those stories where people discover that they stayed in the very same camp. 

Thanks again!

Irēna

Would fit our “Exile Experience” section…
http://latvians.com/en/Exile/exile.php

Reminds me, need to take down the ALA survey notice, been busy!

In light of your excellent and valuable web site, Pēter V, here’s another “great escape” story to add to that of your parents. Getting back to my earlier post on Greiz, where I left off as three-year old. At some point after the war’s end we were moved from Greiz to Meiningen DP camp with series of long wooden barracks. It’s is still in East Germany. Ropes were strung from wall to wall and bed sheets were hung over them to compartmentalize sections for some privacy. There were a lot of refugees from all over the map. In our little group besides my mom and I was my aunt and her lawyer husband. Transition was taking place, as the American and British forces were withdrawing and the Soviets were moving in and we knew that the Soviet axe was going to fall. My aunt was the practical one who knew how to live off the land and make something out of anything that grew. Being practical she also geared us up for the “great escape” across the border from East to West Germany. Every night for over a week we went out to the nearby forest and practiced crawling on our stomachs without making any sounds. Every night when we returned my aunt awarded me with a sugar cube for doing a good job. I was getting to like this training, as it wasn’t frequently that one could come by a sugar cube.

One day while I was standing by the window the barracks reverberated and shook. It felt like someone was trying to drag the building over the ground and the friction was holding it back. My aunt told me, at least I understood it that way, that there was a “zemūdene” (submarine) passing by under the barracks. At that time I knew what a submarine was, as I may have seen one in Riga harbor. Besides, on our trip from Ventspils to Danzig I had heard the word zemūdene brought up. But, now and then, for years the puzzle popped up in my mind, that there must have been subterranean waters under the barracks? The puzzle was finally solved. It was in a physics class at Norwich University in Vermont, when suddenly the building reverberated and shook as if someone was trying to drag it across the ground. It was the same feeling that I had while standing by the window in the barracks as a three-year old. This time I realized that I was experiencing an earthquake and it dawned on me that my tanta had actually been saying “zemestrīce,” a word that I had never heard before and the closes thing that I could relate to at that time was “zemūdene”!

My folks, of course, were anxious to get the hell out of the Soviet zone. They had decided to take the risks, so one night we headed for the woods and walked and walked in the dark. We fortunately did not encounter anyone, especially any soldiers guarding the border. We must have crossed the border at some point because my folks came across British troops on the road with a deuce and a half (a military truck). They had us get into the truck for transportation to some camp. Still being leery and not fully trusting the British my folks made plans if the truck was to turn towards the Soviet zone we would all jump out and head for the dark woods. It didn’t become an issue as the British turned out to be good guys. The “great escape” was easier than we had anticipated. My only regret was that we did not have to crawl; it would have been worth one sugar cube.

Cheers, Ivars

Correction made.