I am writing this book just before my 80th birthday. What a different world
we live in now compared to the one I grew up in.
 
I was born in an area two hours south of Munich called Bernried, where
my paternal grandfather, who was a primary school headmaster, had been
evacuated during the war. When I was born, four days after the end of the
Second World War, my mum did not know where her mother, father or
husband were. My grandmother was in prison in Poland for 2 years; my dad
was in Russian imprisonment for 4 years and my grandfather for 11 years in
one of the worst hard-labour camps: Vorkuta, where 13 million prisoners died
before 1956. I am extraordinarily grateful to my ancestors, who suffered so
incredibly so that I and my family have had 80 years of peace, in which society
could rebuild a world that was destroyed. Unfortunately, at the moment, it
looks like the peaceful cycle is being destroyed and that we don’t seem to have
learnt from our history.
 
During my youth, children and adults alike, if they wanted to survive, had
to adapt. Even if they did survive, there was little rehabilitation of soldiers
that had returned. They had to get on with life and suppress all the horror
they had witnessed. There was no counselling – no word like PTSD was
ever used – and everyone just had to get on with life and work together as
a local community to build housing, however small, and supply basic needs
like food and amenities. In Mengede, near Dortmund in the Ruhr district,
where I grew up, there was at least employment because of the mines. Both
the Catholic and Protestant churches were not bombed, and neither was
the primary school. My mum and I were very lucky that my grandad was
supplied with a two-bedroom house, which also had an attic, an extensive
cellar and a garden.
 
My parents met during their early days at university, where they studied to
become doctors. Very soon after the start of the Second World War, my dad
decided he wanted to join the army and help the wounded. During all his
leave, he went back to his studies to further his qualifications as a doctor, with
a lot of my mother’s help. He was arrested during the Siege of Breslau (now
Wrocław, Poland) in 1945. Then, he was imprisoned in Russian Camp 7212
for four years. When the good-looking 23-year-old soldier came back in 1949 –
when I was 4 – he was a totally emaciated skeleton.
 
My childhood was hard and partly ‘traumatic’, as one would say today, but
I always felt deeply loved by my mum and paternal grandparents, and later by
my father.
 
In 1966, I got married. My husband was English, so a whole new part of my
life began when I went to a new country as a teacher. I was a secondary-school
teacher for 35 years and had 3 lovely children during that time – 2 sons and a
daughter. I was also married for 31 years, and I got divorced in 1997.
Two years later, I found Jeff, with whom I began a whole new life. He was
my rock – he was so kind, and I experienced 24 years of unconditional love
with him. He died very peacefully at age 87, and I now live alone, although
I have family near me.
 
I hope a few more years of manageable time are still given to me to develop
our play therapy profession further, continue with new ideas and have fun in
life.