THE LAST DAYS OF AN EMPIRE
The story of my grandmother Martha Wengoborski
Dedicated to All Those Who Lost Their Lives on the Gustloff
BY Nancy Huber
Have you ever wondered about fate, and the life of your grandparents or your great-grandparents?
Looking at my grandmother’s life in Eastern Prussia during the war, I know there were several incidents which could be classed as miracles. Her boat was one of the last ones to make it out of Prussia. Over 9,000 people died on the Gustloff, and who knows how many others have lost their lives on the countless other boats, hit by Russian torpedoes.
Winter had come early in the winter of 1944. The crisp wind blew from the Baltic Sea, spraying a salty ice layer over the roads and sidewalks of the small seaport town of Pillau (Baltiysk), 43 km west of Koenigsberg (Kaliningrad), Eastern Prussia.
It was in the early morning hours, that Martha had felt the slow, piercing arrival of her unborn child. She had secretly been hoping for a little girl, to take away that cold gap within her broken heart. The agonizing piercing pain tore through her body again as she was reminded of Christa, her first born.
It was a cold winters day in Lyck, December 28th, 1932. Martha’s body had trembled under the piercing labor pains, as her baby pushed her way through the birth canal into life. Then, finally, Martha had held her wrinkled, beautiful baby girl close to her heart.
Two years later, on September 14, 1934, Martha delivered a healthy little boy. She and her husband named him Gerd, meaning strong spear. This little boy would, in a few years time, live up to this promising title.
In the year of 1937, on September 29, Martha gave birth to another strong, healthy boy, whom they named Ulli – short for Ulrich.
Then, in 1939, February 19, the third son would be born to Martha and Paul. They named this boy Klaus.
Hitler, by this time, had risen to power and a different wind blew over Eastern Prussia.
On September 1, 1939, Hitler marched into Poland. The inevitable happened, what many had feared. Germany was at war.
Life in the little town of Lyck continued as normally as possible. Paul worked as a carpenter journeyman, providing for the growing family. Life was hard, but they managed.
It was at this time that Paul was pulled into the army and was able to work from Pillau as a carpenter. The family settled in Pillau, so Paul could be close to the barracks, where he was able to work in his line of work. They moved into a tiny house on S.A. Strasse 60, (abbreviation of Sturmabteilung – Storm Troopers).
A week before Christa’s 9th birthday, she fell on the school playground. The children had played a game outside when Christa had lost her balance and fell on her head. She threw up shortly afterwards, a sure sign of concussion, yet the harsh teacher left her at school and did not permit her to leave early.
Martha had been outraged about this, when Christa came home, and the boys told her of this cruel incident. Martha made her daughter rest on the couch, and called on the doctor, who looked at Christa the next day.
Christa stayed home the next few days, still not feeling well enough to go to school. Martha was downstairs in the kitchen, Klaus and Ulli playing by her side while she was preparing her daughter’s birthday cake. Tomorrow her little girl would turn 9 years old.
Gerd was upstairs on the bed with Christa, playing Schwarzer Kater, an old traditional children’s card game. Suddenly, Christa convulsed, her entire body went rigid. Gerd screamed, and Martha came running up the narrow steps to the loft, where her children had their beds.
All help came too late. Christa died one day before her ninth birthday. (Years later, Martha concluded that perhaps Christa had suffered from a brain tumor. Christa had complained frequently of headaches prior to her accident. The accident had then perhaps ruptured the tumor, which caused her sudden death).
The birthday cake stayed untouched, and no birthday was celebrated on December 28th, 1941.
The pain was hidden deep within Martha’s heart, as she continued caring for her three boys. About a year after losing her daughter so tragically, Martha noticed her inability to become pregnant. She saw her physician who did a minor procedure on Martha.
One year later, a certain glow reached Martha’s eyes as she learned of her pregnancy. The pregnancy went uneventful and without complications. She felt good and her husband worked close by. Not like other women, whose husband had been called away to fight at the front, Paul was working at the barracks.
On November 23, 1944, Soviet troops entered Czechoslovakia. It was also on this Thursday, little Ursula Roswitha, my mother, entered this world. Tears of joy pricked Martha’s eyes as she beamed down at her daughter.
Soon after her daughter’s birth, Martha tried to keep her boys occupied as good as possible, while her insides trembled of the constant news of war triggering in to Pillau. The month of December brought terrifying news, known as the Battle of the Bulge. It was launched through the densely forested Ardennes region in Belgium and Luxembourg; Hitler wanting to stop the enemy reaching the port of Antwerp.
But it was January 13th, that chilled Martha to her bones.
Paul, her husband, had been called away. He and all able men had been called into the barracks to prepare for the inevitable attack through the Russians. Everyone knew they were coming. The question was when.
On January 13, the town of Pillau was alerted to evacuate immediately.
Little Ursula was only 20 days old when the order hit their town. Martha was still recovering from birth when her life was turned upside down again.
They only had a few minutes to prepare. What to take and what to leave behind.
Martha had a stroller and packed in everything she could think of into the areas beside her infant daughter. She cast one quick glance towards their cat and knew she had to be left behind.
She dressed her boys warmly, making them wear all they had on their young bodies. Gerd, her oldest being 10 now, had to be the man of the small family.
When they opened the front door to leave, a cold gush of wind hit them. It was minus 22 Celsius on this fateful evening, when Martha, Gerd, Ulli, Klaus and little Ursula left their home.
It was some distance to the port, and with great difficulty, Martha pushed the stroller through the deep snow. Gerd had to walk ahead to scout out the area. Word had reached them that Russians dressed as civilians could be around. A scary thought for the mother of four, as she trusted her 10-year-old boy to protect them.
Hundreds of other women and children, along with Martha and her children arrived at the port of Pillau. Word reached them that the S.S. Gustloff was in Gotenhafen, just across the bay from Pillau. Martha was able to find her husband in the crowd of desperate people. With excitement he told her that he would be able to get passage for them on the Gustloff. He wanted his family out of Pillau as quickly as possible.
Martha would have been excited at this news had it not been for one very important detail. Most of her friends and neighbours had passage for the next ship leaving Gotenhafen. She wanted to be on it with people she knew. She did not want to be amongst strangers on a big boat, heading to a hazy future. She understood the Gustloff was one of the fanciest ships around, Hitler’s Titanic. The captain of the Gustloff had learned about the distress and was willing to take on as many refugees as he could. But none of that mattered to Martha. She wanted to stay together with her friends and neighbors.
At this time, 100,000 desperate civilians had poured into Pillau. Command squabbles delayed the departure of the Wilhelm Gustloff, until finally, on January 28, she was able to leave port. The numbers exceeded the allowable passenger list, with people sitting on staircases and sitting in the passageways. There were people everywhere. And each one was more than happy to get out Prussia.
Martha and her children waited in the barracks until another ship would arrive to rescue them. They needed patience, for time was running out.
Word spread quickly that the Soviets had taken Koenigsberg – also known as the Battle of Koenigsberg. Heavy fighting took place for control of overland connection between Koenigsberg and the port of Pillau.
Tension grew as the news spread. People were getting anxious, and the nerves of the women were thin as paper.
Two days after the Gustloff had left, the horrendous news left everyone numb. The Gustloff had been hit by three torpedoes.
Just then word arrived that another ship had dropped anchor in Gotenhafen. Martha and her children were to leave. The news of the Gustloff still underneath her skin, Martha assembled her children and they piled themselves into the small fishing boat, which was to carry them across the bay to Gotenhafen. Gerd sat at the front, his eyes ahead, when suddenly his eyes perceived horror. Pieces of torn bodies swam all around them. The entire bay was covered with dead bodies, yet the fishing boat continued, gliding amidst the black waters.
Silence surrounded them, no one spoke, nor dared to breathe as the boat made its way through the bodies. Martha tried to cover the eyes of Klaus and Ulli, not wanting them to have this horrible imprint upon their young minds. It was bad enough that Gerd had to watch this scenario, but she could not help this. She just prayed with her motherly heart that this would not affect his youth.
Finally, they reached Gotenhafen, where a huge ship awaited them. All refugees piled onto the planks and found their way inside. Each one prayed that the Russians would not find them. Mothers with pale, ghastly faces held on to their children, while the ship lifted anchor.
This ship was to take them to Germany, to the port of Bremen. Even though Martha spoke German, she had never been to Germany. But fear held her back of even hoping and dreaming of another future. All she wanted, like all the other mothers aboard this ship, was to make it though the Baltic Sea, unseen – that no torpedoes would find their ship.
9,300 people died on that fateful day. 1,239 survived the sinking of the Gustloff. This is the highest death toll in maritime history, yet so few know of this dramatic, sad event in history.
As soon as the ship left the port of Gotenhafen, my grandfather, Paul, turned around and left for Koenigsberg to enlist. He was one of the last soldiers to enter the war. If he would not have enlisted, and the S.S. learn that he had not enlisted yet, they would have stood him up against the wall to be shot. Paul was very wise in doing so. He entered the war as a real soldier, only to be captured by the Russians soon after. He was released after the war and reunited with his wife and children in Germany.
Once the war was over, the family moved to Leverkusen, where my grandfather became a Postal worker. He retired in Leverkusen. Both grandparents died of a ripe old age, but my grandmother died at the proud age of 101 in 2010.
I often wonder about fate and how our lives take unexpected twists and turns. I see the hand of my heavenly Father in all of this, and I stand in awe at the strange occurrences. If Christa, my aunt, would not have died, my grandmother would not have seen a doctor, to aid with her next pregnancy. My mother would never have been born if Christa would have lived. Had my grandmother listened to her husband, she would have been on the Gustloff, and my family would not exist today. None of us would be here.
Just a coincidence? I think not.
