February 1945
The morning was crisp and clear when we left Birkenau. A few days earlier Mutti and I had raided the stores to find a small suitcase which we filled with a change of underwear, some woollen stockings, jumpers and two dresses (skirts were useless since we had no waists). We also packed a loaf of bread. We told Olga we were determined to leave as quickly as possible. A strange Fate had made us dependent on each other and now she joined us readily.
At first our elation carried us along – we were free and it seemed almost inconceivable that only a few kilometres behind us millions of our people had been systematically put to death.
It had snowed hard in the night and as we three tramped through the soft, crunchy layer we could see the mounds of snow which covered the bodies from that last fateful forced-march, lining the roadway. Everything was now white and peaceful.
Our precious quilts were rolled-up under our arms. Mutti and I took turns with the suitcase but after a while it became heavier by the step. Every footprint was evidence of our determination to reach Auschwitz. Our breath vaporized in the bitter cold and we walked wearily, too anxious about what the future held in store to speak. I stumbled along with half-closed eyes, longing to see Pappy and Heinz again and imagining Pappy’s face when he saw Mutti alive before him, not dead as he’d thought. He wouldn’t be able to believe that amongst all the victims we two had survived and come back. The anticipation of our reunion gave us strength to continue.
It took more than two hours before the red-brick buildings of Auschwitz appeared on the horizon. The Russians were still around, busily organizing their provisions and troops. When we reached the first batch of soldiers Olga walked over to them, turned to us and waved us to go on. We trudged past her and never saw her again.
I led Mutti to the first building I had visited before. The three-tiered lines of bunk beds were still filled with shrivelled, emaciated men, mainly young men who now looked ancient; whose grey, shaven skulls and prominent jawbones held skin without flesh beneath. Everyone looked like a living skeleton. We started to walk slowly along the rows searching for Pappy or Heinz. Eager eyes sought us out and followed us as they looked for some recognition of their own loved ones. I did not find Mr Frank again but we came across one man that we had known in Amsterdam and seen in Westerbork. Something about his features made Mutti stop by his bunkside.
‘Mr Hirsch?’ she asked unsurely.
He lay motionless, his eyes turned towards us but without any expression.
‘Mr Hirsch,’ Mutti repeated ‘... don’t you know me... Fritzi Geiringer?’
Very gradually his expression altered, his face cleared into a weak smile and he feebly held out his hand to clutch at hers.
‘I’m so pleased you’re still alive,’ said Mutti.
‘Fritzi? You’ve come through!’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘That’s wonderful! But I can’t get up to greet you,’ he apologized. ‘My leg’s broken and it’s tied to a plank.’
We asked about Pappy and Heinz. And then he gave us the news we had dreaded to hear.
‘They’ve gone.’ He shook his head at the despairing look on our faces. ‘They left with one of the last forced marches. Erich said anyone left behind would surely be killed by the retreating SS so he felt he and Heinz should make the effort to go. I had no choice, I can’t walk,’ he shrugged.
It was devastating news. We could hardly bear to look at each other we were so demoralized. Mutti patted his hand and promised to return after we had organized shelter for the night. Our hearts were heavy as we went outside. Somehow we had to go on existing. We comforted each other with the thought that Pappy and Heinz were probably in fairly good condition and that they should survive the march. We would just have to wait a little longer to be reunited.
On the top floor of the same building were small rooms occupied now by Russians and some fitter-looking inmates. We found an empty room equipped with two single wooden beds, straw mattresses, a small table and one wooden chair. Best of all, there was a door that we could close for privacy. We claimed it as our quarters and dumped our meagre possessions on the beds before going down to investigate. The spoils of war were everywhere, dozens of people were wandering around plundering the stores and abandoning goods they did not want. We found washrooms on the ground floor with running cold water but the lavatories were all blocked. We took a bucket from the corridor to use in our room as a toilet and some plates and cutlery from an abandoned pile outside. And then I came across the greatest find of all: a huge liver sausage which lay in the road ready to be grabbed. Our mouths watered at the thought of our first liverworst sandwich for years. We would share some with Mr Hirsch and the idea of it totally preoccupied us until we arrived back at our room. As we pushed open the door our hearts sank. The suitcase and all our belongings had gone! Only the quilts were left.
We sat on our beds disconsolately looking at our sausage and, bread or no bread, I sank my teeth into it. Mutti bit some off as well, warning me again not to eat too much in one go but I was like a starved, crazed animal and nothing in the world could stop me. The impulse to eat was so strong that I ate ravenously until there was nothing left.
It had been an emotional and tiring day. As evening drew in we lay down on separate beds under our quilts, but my exhaustion was not strong enough to overcome my need for Mutti’s warmth and after a few minutes I crept over to her bed to snuggle down beside her.
Later I woke with terrific stomach cramp that made me rush to the bucket and there I had to spend the rest of the night, paying for my gluttony!
The passes issued to Mutti and me by the Russians in Auschwitz after the liberation of the camp.
Next morning we went out to talk to the Russians. There seemed to be a small permanent band of soldiers who were coping with the problems of the abandoned concentration camp. Some were digging holes for latrines for the inmates, others were organizing able-bodied people to help peel the vast mounds of potatoes to be tipped into heavy black cauldrons for potato and cabbage soup. It was the mainstay food for all, troops included. Large chunks of rough, coarse maize bread were distributed and there was now sufficient food to halt the symptoms of starvation. We were willing to undertake any task for extra food. A Russian officer asked Mutti to clean his office windows which were thick with the grime of winter. There was no water but he showed us how to do it with balls of newspaper. Afterwards he gave us bread and cheese and we were very grateful.
Three young, sturdy Russian soldiers appeared early one morning armed with handsaws and muscle power and began to saw off the top two tiers of the bunks. Converting the three-tier system to something like a hospital ward allowed us to distance ourselves from the feeling of being prisoners. It comforted us to know that somebody was aware of our plight and it was a very important step for our morale. Later we saw the wood being slung on to the fires of the field kitchen and realized it had been cut down for fuel.
There were several other Dutch women in the camp and within the week Mutti and I had met them. Some had been captured in September and were not in such a bad state as the long-standing inmates. One of them, Rootje, was lively and friendly and of about Mutti’s age. The SS had discovered her hiding place and she’d been caught with her husband and sixteen-year-old daughter Judy. Judy had been transported to another work-camp and she envied Mutti having me with her. They soon became good friends. She was searching for her husband but he, too, had left on one of the last marches. Rootje also spoke of Otto Frank’s family who had been in Rootje’s barrack. She told us that Margot and Anne had been sent away in October and Edith had become mentally troubled, imagining they were still with her and keeping food hidden for them and her husband Otto. In January, just before liberation, she had died in Rootje’s arms, of exhaustion, starvation and despair. I was sad for Mr Frank and I hoped Anne and Margot were alive.
A shy, lanky Dutch girl of sixteen called Kea made friends with me. I was glad to have someone my age to talk to in Dutch and we tried to meet every day for company. Her parents and grandparents had arranged for her to be hidden in Friesland on a farm but she, too, had been betrayed. She had no news of her family and was totally alone.
During a night of the third week we heard the crack of gunfire near to the camp. Then the boom of artillery. The barrage continued throughout the night as Mutti and I clung to each other in fear under the quilts trying to block out the noise.
When we went down next morning the street was full of agitated inmates and soldiers. We gradually realized that the Russians had suffered a severe onslaught from the Germans and had lost ground. Our mutual enemy was advancing towards us once more. We were terrified. Having been through all that suffering and survived, we knew that if they were ever to return they would take bitter revenge and murder us all in cold blood.
Eventually, several Russian officers appeared and calmed us down. They indicated in broken German that they were going to move us back behind the lines to Katowitz, which was in a safer zone. We had to be ready within the hour.
We packed our belongings in a rucksack that Mutti had sewn out of floor-cloths, rolled up our quilts and went down to help Mr Hirsch. He was still lying in his bunk in great pain. We wanted him to come with us but he still couldn’t move. There were several other very weak men. We hated leaving them behind in danger of being recaptured by Germans. If the Russians could only manage to hold their positions we knew they would be looked after, but otherwise...?
About 150 men and women assembled in the main square. We were a ragged crowd mostly dressed in striped prison clothes – all with shaven heads – massed together, eager to get out of Auschwitz.
Several lorries rumbled into the square. Russian soldiers let down the flaps and we hauled each other into the back. Rootje and Kea sat with us on the boards, waiting to be driven back to the infamous railway track. Once more we saw cattle trucks waiting for their human cargo, but this time the Russians were taking care of us. This time finally we were on our way to freedom.