Samstag, April 09, 2005


My father returned from the Bristish war captivity in 1946. It was a long journey he had to do by train, by foot and when he finally arrived home he had to run a search for the house where his wife and his little son stayed with his mother-in-law, because the entire residential quarter was a heap of ruins.
Finally he found us but when he wanted to give me a kiss I - that tiny tot of three years - slapped him in his face for he was an unshaved stranger for me ...
I don't remember this story peronally ... I only remember that later there was a great love between him and me, although sometimes admixed with hate too.

My father was a very talented artist and for my birthday in the next year he carved this rocking horse which I enjoyed naturally a lot!