Chemnitz contemporary witnesses: Barbara Wähner

On 5 March 1945, an attack on Chemnitz was announced in the afternoon on the "Goebbelsharfe". That afternoon, 3 of my aunts, one of whom was celebrating her 37th birthday, realised this. They all came with their children to my grandmother's house at what was then Ludendorfstraße 59, later Rudolf-Harlass-Straße and now Barbarossastraße.

The house still stands today and was spared from the bombing. There was only one unexploded bomb in my grandmother's yard a few days later. It had fallen through the roof into the bed of a playmate on the 4th floor. Dad had carefully carried it down. That was of course a special experience for us children.

At the time, I lived with my mum at Wittelsbacher Strasse 8, now Georg-Landgraf-Str. My dad was killed at the front in October 1944.

The house at Georg-Landgraf-Str. 8 still stands today, but a bomb fell into house 6 and house 4 was showered with phosphorus. All the people, including playmates, were burnt to death.

My aunt Gretel and her 3 children temporarily moved into our undamaged flat. An aunt with her husband and son lived with my grandmother. My mum, her sister Hilde, who was heavily pregnant, and her daughter, the four of us, my cousin aged 10 and me aged 6, set off for Wittgensdorf to visit my grandparents with a handcart and two suitcases full of essentials.

I had a small rucksack with my teddy bear "Petz". My children and grandchildren later called him the "bomb teddy bear" and still honour him today. The journey to Wittgensdorf was difficult. It was cold, it was snowing and it was night. A wounded soldier who came from the André School, now the Dr Wilhelm André Grammar School, pushed our handcart to the Küchwald Hospital. Our route took us over the Bornaer Berg, quite a hill. Once we reached the top, we were greeted by an eerily beautiful sight. The sky was fiery red and ghostly ruins loomed out of the sea of fire. A well-known painter from Chemnitz, Willy Wittig, painted the picture "Inferno on 5 March 1945" (privately owned).

Every year on 5 March, I hold a minute's silence with my "Petz" and wish that nothing like this ever happens.