Chemnitz contemporary witnesses: Hannelore Thieme
My father died in the war in 1943 and I hardly got to know him.
Every year in March, I always think back to the worst night of the bombing of Chemnitz in 1945 - when I was not even 5 years old. My mother, my sister and I lived in the south-east of the city.
Some time before the terrible event, I was playing with my friend on the grass verge in the Sachsenring when a loud humming sound rang out above us. My mum, who was looking out for us, suddenly shouted: "Lie flat on the grass!" Which we did. There were low-flying planes right above us. Fortunately, nothing happened to us.
On 5 March, the air raid siren sounded, as it often did, and we had to go down to the cellar when the sirens sounded in the evening. My younger sister had just had the measles and had a cot in the cellar. I sat anxiously next to her with my mum.
The bombing was terrible and wouldn't stop. It crashed again and again. We heard it thundering, howling, hissing and all the women shouting "It's hit!"
We children covered our ears. Finally, the all-clear came in the morning.
I was allowed in the front door. The sight of the surroundings was terrible. The sky was blood red, there were shards, boards and roof tiles everywhere. A little later, I was allowed to go up on the roof with a few adults and look out of the window.
Opposite, broken houses, next door the same and desperate screams. Looking towards the city, everything was black and glowing red and there was a terrible smell of burning.
Fortunately, our flat had remained intact, but we no longer had any windows. When my mum had cleaned up the shards and splinters, we children were finally able to get some sleep.
The next day, my mum took me into town. The city was a field of rubble. We went to the burnt-out and collapsed St Jacob's Church and to Klosterstraße. The city centre was almost completely destroyed. I will never forget the sight and smell of the ruins, some of which were still smoking, even when I stand at St. Jacob's Church 75 years later and see the colourful market area.
After this destruction of the city, my mother became a rubble woman and helped to clear up the rubble. I rarely saw her and became a latchkey child at the age of 5 and looked after my little sister.
Even 75 years later, I still remember this terrible experience. May there never be another war or bombing raids.
This is where the contemporary witness lived her story:
Contemporary witness brochures
The eternal March
Memories of a childhood during the war
The last witnesses
When the old Chemnitz died in a hail of bombs