A young German woman named Elsbeth cleaned Sarky and Munden's flat in the complex, among others. She had a small four or five year old boy named Gunter. As with many children at the time, Gunter had been born for the Fatherland, an out of wedlock union with a German soldier. The prospective mothers were screened for physical and mental health by the Nazi Party; their children were to be the selected supermen of the Nazi state.
Poor Gunter, his legs were bowed with rickets from malnutrition; he had a shy, quiet manner. The blond boy was evidence of the food shortage in Germany at war's end, particularly serious for young developing children. At the mess I used to gather uneaten food at our table, especially ice cream, and bring it back to Gunter. Elsbeth would be cooking food in her nearby apartment kitchen and the meat smelled like it was rancid. A few Germans had small vegetable plots along the edge of the apartment complex. Virtually all of the army mess food in Berlin was canned because of the long supply line across Europe. Sarky became desperate for fresh vegetables so, sometimes at night, he would grab a few green vegetable leafs as we walked by a patch.
During the day Sarky had to report for duty at 0800 in the 82nd Airborne Division G-4 sector (supply). About 10 A.M. he would return and we would go to the Red Cross club for coffee and doughnuts. I learned to hate those greasy pastries. At noon I would join his group at the mess for lunch, usually excellent soup and homemade bread. After work or sometimes when he had an afternoon off we would go sightseeing in war-shattered Berlin. There was little to see except rubble from bombed-out buildings. Scarcely a street had an intact building. Most of our evenings were spent at the officers' club but one night we attended a local nightclub and heard a blues singer who reminded us of Marlene Dietrich.
The Monday after my arrival we had gone to Lyle's commanding officer to follow through on orders for a ten-day leave for me but, after several days there was no word. As I was already overdue on my three-day pass I finally and reluctantly had to return to my Paris base. It was with a heavy heart that I walked off the plane at Orly, waited in the airport building for my bag. One of my nurse colleagues came by and said "what are you doing here; I just saw new orders granting you a ten-day leave." I stared at her, told her: "Oh, it finally came through! Don't tell anyone you saw me; I'm going back." I grabbed my bag, screamed to the clerk, "Tell the plane to Berlin to wait for me; I'm coming." I ran out on the airfield as the plane door was shut, screeching and waving my arms. The door opened and I jumped on board. I was back in Berlin about 9 P.M.
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| Honeymoon over and back to work! |
I called Sarky to come and get me. "Is this a joke; you are in Paris, aren't you? "No, I'm out at Templehof." I had to repeat myself at least three times before he believed me but he arrived at the field in short order. It was a glorious honeymoon but, like all good things, it had to come to an end. I had taken another ten days since my return to Paris and I didn't want to push my luck any further.
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| He looks happy to get rid of me but it's only for a few months! |
We had attended an army football game in the stadium where the Olympic games had been held in the 1930s. We had visited the infamous black market near the Bertesgarten. I sold two Swiss wrist watches (which I had purchased in the army post exchange for $18) to Russian soldiers for $200, a very conservative price. The Russians had large quantities of the Allied controlled German marks as they had not been paid for months, in their long march to Berlin. I also sold my weekly ration of cigarettes but not the allotted candy which I had to give to Sarky. Ever since he had had hepatitis in Italy he had been unable to obtain enough carbohydrates so I would give him all my candy rations.
Back to Paris, the war was over and all military personnel who had 65 points (for length of service) could go home and be discharged to civilian life. Sarky wrote that his outfit would be going back to the states the first of the year and that he planned to return with it, even though, after two years in Europe, he was already eligible for discharge. The time was October, 1945.
So I put in for discharge along with most of our outfit. Kay and I flew one last load of patients home - my 63rd transatlantic flight. Kay, I and several nurses boarded a train for Fort Sheridan, Illinois and we received our discharge in November, 1945.
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