Erika- A War torn Love

Prologue

I was sat at home with my father and brother when it was announced. We lived in a nice house, one which by local standards was rather large and had vast lands attached, most of which were farmed for agriculture.

We were sat in our spacious living room, although it looked somewhat smaller than it really was. There was a large brick fireplace, with open fire, the coals smouldering away. Above the fire was a hanging bucket which my father used to warm things. He still hadnt got use to the fact we had a stove in the kitchen which was a far quicker and easier way of cooking. Opposite the fire was a recess in which my father had built a box type seat, unsightly bloody thing full of dust and clutter. The mattress covering and blankets were old and worn, the sort most wouldnt even give the dog to sleep on, and to perfect the shabby look was my fathers favourite lumpy nicotine impregnated pillow. He had heavy drapes lining the recess which he could pull across to separate the recess from the main sitting area. He didnt however pull them to hide the unsightly makeshift bed when we had guests over, no he simply scoffed that guest should be pleased to be invited into a warm room, with ample seating! Not that anyone except himself was allowed to sit in the recess! He would however draw the drapes at 3pm every day for his afternoon nap.

Today was no different we were all sat in the main space of the living room. Surrounded by piles of old news papers, piles of wood cut ready for the fire and a few books. To the left of the fire my father sat in his chair, next to which his occasional table had his tobacco container glasses case and cup of coffee sat on it. There was a large coffee pot on the central table where Fritz and I had our own cups of coffee. My father motioned as I leaned forwards to re-fill my cup that his was empty. Expecting me to fill his cup I instead sat back in my seat and looked out of the front window taking in the morning sights of our town.

Helmstedt was a pretty town, in the west of Germany traditionally known as a spa town, with the lappwald directly to the north of the town, and direct train link in to Berlin. Although I was born in Behndorf, I had lived in Helmstedt all my life. I longed for travel however, not because I disliked the town, but rather to escape the oppression of my father. For many years he had controlled my movements, as many fathers did.

I never knew my real mother. I was told by Fritz that before she had me we had another sister, who died falling out of her high chair when my mother was looking after her. When I was born she rejected me, and I initially lived with my grandparents. Although I dont remember her, I also know that my real mother had some sort of breakdown shortly after I moved to my grandparents and therefore was moved to a facility for mentally impaired people.

I remember being brought home after being with my grandparents for a couple of years, back to my father and being told that the woman now living with my father was to be called mother. Even as young as I was I of course knew she was not my mother.  I did not at the time know what had happened to my real mother either which lead to my relationship with my step mother being turbulent, fuelled further by my fathers controlling oppression.

My older brother Fritz, seemed to do no wrong he relished having a mother again, and she doted on him, as for me, there was always something.  One minute I was not enough of a girl, the next I was too much of one, too picky with my dresses, my hair. I just could not get it right. Fritz and I could do the exact same thing wrong yet he would receive no punishment, yet me I would be shouted at and given extra chores! I actually did not mind the chores, fetching potatoes from the fields, picking berries, going in the woods to collect mushrooms. It got me out of the house, away from my parents into the world. Although I was meant to be being punished I felt free outside of the house. I got to walk and explore, and it gave me opportunity to meet with my friends at times I would normally not be allowed to.

It was a usual Sunday morning sat in our lounge. Father was reading the local paper, which although delivered on a Friday and was only 5 pages long seemed to take him an age to read! He could take ages of the smallest things.  I often wondered about asking him if he needed help with reading, I knew this would irritate him and I actually quite enjoyed a bit of an argument. Today however I thought better of it when thinking about our wide repertoire of other subjects which usually resulted in arguments, I felt this was not one to add, not today anyway.