Chemnitz contemporary witnesses: Klaus Görner
The beginning of 1945 already signalled the end of the unfortunate world war.
But the sirens sounded on many evenings, and as a 5-year-old I was usually roused from my sleep, quickly dressed and hurried with my mother to the neighbour's house, where there was a large cellar for shelter.
On 5 March 1945, my mother and I walked about half a kilometre to a large farm in the central village of the Chemnitz-Reichenhain district. We were given shelter in the farmhouse of the farmer Bochmann. This cellar could hold a large number of people and was more stable than other cellars. It didn't stop that night, planes after planes flew over the town and the neighbouring outskirts, dropping bomb after bomb.
When the noise died down and the all-clear was given, we fortunately got out of the cellar, although an incendiary bomb had set the farmstead on fire.
My memories are as follows: the sky over the city of Chemnitz was fiery red, the air was dry and my mother took snow to overcome the dryness in her mouth and throat. The journey home was difficult because there were also many destroyed houses in Reichenhain. The small house in the so-called upper village, which was our home with two other families, was still standing. A bomb had flown over our house and created a bomb crater on the neighbouring road that led to two farmsteads.
Apart from the broken window panes, there was no major damage to our home.
That night of the bombing left a strong impression on me.
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