Chemnitz contemporary witnesses: Marga Fritze

I was born in Chemnitz on 6 March 1928, so I celebrated my 17th birthday on 6 March 1945.

We, my parents and my younger brother Gerhard, lived together with my paternal grandparents and another family of three who rented from us in a two-family house on the other side of the municipal cemetery in Bernsdorf. My father was a soldier in France at the time.

According to my memory, there had already been a minor attack during the day on 5 March. I think I remember that the house of master builder Klammt (now Rosa-Luxemburg-Straße), who was a friend of my grandparents, was hit.

In the evening, the radio programme - the radio was actually always on - was suddenly interrupted. The characteristic knocking sound was heard, announcing the air raid warnings. We had heard this signal quite often and, after all, bombs had already fallen on Chemnitz. In such a case, we had to quickly grab our bags, which were filled with the most important papers, food and drink, and go to the cellar. On several occasions, however, Chemnitz was not the ultimate target. The bomber fleets, whose eerie humming could be heard, then flew to targets further east.

This time it was different. It must have been between 8 and 9 p.m. when the voice on the radio announced: "Bomber units approaching Chemnitz". Everyone in the house, my mother, my brother, my grandparents and the woman who was renting with her young daughter (her husband was at war), went into the centrally located basement room where there was seating. I can't remember how much time had passed between the radio report and the start of the attack. I only remember that my grandfather, who was 68 years old at the time, left the cellar once again and called us out - and then we saw how the town was brightly lit up by the lights set by the advance units, the so-called Christmas trees. Now there was no longer any doubt that this time the attack was on Chemnitz.

I can still remember the terrifying hum of the aircraft engines and the strange noise that arose when the bombs were dropped. It sounded like the rumbling of a potato sack being dumped. You actually sat motionless in the cellar and waited to see when it would hit. To say that it gave you a queasy feeling is an understatement. You hear the detonations of the bombs and hope that you will be spared. Suddenly there was a terrible bang and a wave of air pressure tore the washhouse door from its moorings and I, who always sat opposite the washhouse door, hit it on the head. Nevertheless, we were lucky that day. Instead, it had virtually wiped out a whole row of houses just 100 metres away.

We had shutters on the front of our house facing west, which were closed in the evening. They kept out the blast waves from the explosions so that the panes on the front of the house remained intact. None of the panes at the back of the house were whole. They had all shattered inwards and my mum found shards of glass even in the mattresses. We were only able to have the windows repaired days later by the glazier on Bernsdorfer Straße. Our house itself wasn't hit directly, but the entire roof was torn from its anchoring and put back on at an angle. I don't remember how that was repaired later. Some of the plaster had fallen from the ceilings - and my birthday cake, which my mum had baked and which was still warm on the kitchen table during the attack, was ruined. There were still burning stick bombs in the courtyard and our scaffolding shed, which housed all our ladders and posts etc. (we had a painting business), had also been hit. The fires had to be extinguished. My grandfather, the founder of the company, couldn't stay in the cellar and my brother, who was 14 at the time, had to help. But the all-clear had not yet been given. I remember my mother shouting after my grandfather, albeit in vain, that the child shouldn't go into the yard. But my brother was now the second man in the family, so to speak, and had to lend a hand.

After the attack, it must have been after midnight, people, mainly women and children, came out of the town and crossed the municipal cemetery. Our house was practically opposite or slightly below the cemetery exit on Augsburger Straße. It wasn't long before the ground floor of our house was full of strangers. I can still see four or five children, young and old, sitting on our sofa in the kitchen. They had come with their mothers, who had had to leave their burning houses further towards the city centre. The windows in the kitchen were still open and the first thing my mother did was to try to light a fire in the oven. My grandmother said we had to make tea, the children needed something warm. The house was dark; there were only candles and paraffin lamps. In the rooms at the back of the house, my grandfather tried to cover the broken windows with blankets. This was only a very makeshift solution. It was now snowing and the temperature was below zero. I don't remember how we spent the night in all the chaos and dirt. The beds were covered in broken glass. Anyway, the next morning people left again. I don't know where. Many of the bombed-out Chemnitz residents must have found shelter with relatives in the countryside.

Of course, there was no electricity, gas or water. But we had a well in the grounds of our house. As far as I know, all or at least many of the houses on Augsburger Straße still had wells, but not the neighbouring houses on Grünband and in the entire Gagfa housing estate. Over the next few days, people came to fetch water from us. At times there was a queue of more than 100 metres. People stood patiently with their buckets and waited their turn. Sometimes the well was empty and we had nothing left ourselves.

It was only days later that we were able to walk across Reichenhainer Straße to Vetterstraße. My maternal grandmother lived there. Until then, we had no news as to whether she was still alive. There were still smouldering fires; dark clouds of smoke made breathing difficult; there was an acrid smell over the whole town. We had wet cloths with us, which we held in front of our faces. But the joy was great when the house on Vetterstrasse was still standing and we found our grandmother, unharmed. We all cried.

In the days following the attack, countless dead bodies were brought to the cemetery on handcarts or even larger trolleys. We could watch this from our house. I also stood at (already closed) mass graves several times and can remember the many bags and handbags, items of clothing, caps, hats and shoes lying in front of the graves.

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