Life Can Be Cruel: The Story of a German P.O.W. in Russia

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I was born in a small town in East Prussia, on a bitter cold night in January. The year was 1913, one year before the outbreak of World War I. My parents were very happy and proud that their second child was a boy. At last, thought Papa, I will have a male heir who can carry on the business and keep alive the family tradition. In his mind he was already planning my future. With fatherly pride he bent to kiss my mother and thank her for giving him a son. It had been a long time between children—thirteen years—and although Papa loved my sister Frieda and gave her the best which he was able to provide, still, she was only a girl, and a girl did not share the pride of her father’s profession in those days, nor did she hold the promise of a new and more prosperous generation that would bear the family name. All of this was important to Papa, who was a proud, strong-willed man, a master pastry chef who took pride in his craft.

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