Can you imagine opening the doors of your home and hosting a throng of strangers?
I’m not talking about guests who arrive for a few hours of cocktails and dancing, and stagger home at dawn’s first blush. I’m talking about people actually taking up residence in your living room, family room, dining room, spare bedrooms—even huddling up with blankets and pillows in your hallway for a night’s sleep.
“Who on earth are these people?” you might ask. The answer? Refugees.
Why on earth would you open your doors to refugees? Imagine government officials shoving them through your front door, handing you some ration stamps to cover their board, and obligating you to house them.
During this anniversary month, I’m reflecting upon historical events that occurred 80 years ago and shedding light on eye-opening facts I learned about the last days of the Reich—specifically from the perspective of people in Schwarzenfeld. This post highlights one of those discoveries.
Early in the war, as the German army surged through Poland and Russia, German citizens enticed by Hitler’s vision of “living space” settled out east. By 1943, the tide began to turn. Those same settlers found themselves fleeing the Russian juggernaut and surging back into Germany with nowhere to go. To make matters worse, daily bombing raids by the Allies decimated Germany’s cities, rendering them uninhabitable. Waves of refugees flooded down from the north and the east, congregating in the rural areas of central and south Germany (especially in Bavaria, where Schwarzenfeld is located).
The task of caring for German travelers fell squarely upon the shoulders of officials in the NSV (Nazi welfare). Faced with a crisis of staggering proportions, the NSV compelled homeowners in rural areas to provide shelter for refugees. According to Hedy, the boarding house where she lived in Schwarzenfeld was packed with strangers. Just about the only free room was the bathroom.
I place myself in the shoes of a woman in Schwarzenfeld and imagine the grand totality of what she faced on a daily basis: Minding every word spoken around her children, for fear of them repeating the wrong thing to a teacher who burns with Nazi fervor; a house packed with perfect strangers—some of whom hail from other parts of Germany and speak a dialect she doesn’t understand; grief for a husband or father or brother missing on the front, possibly KIA.
How did this hypothetical woman manage? Incredibly, she found strength in faith, and an American Passionist who compelled her to see Christ in all who suffer. Including herself.
Useful reminders
This post is part of a month-long series reflecting upon historical events that contributed to my debut historical fiction novel, The Sower of Black Field. Visit the “Latest News” area on my website for a recap »
The Sower of Black Field is available in paperback, eBook / Kindle, and audiobook on Amazon. Get your copy »
For all who would like to read Hedy’s poetry, check out her book To Whom It May Concern, also available on Amazon »
