Silent Night, Holy Night: Memories of the last Christmas Eve during World War II

Von Antonia Katharina Tessnow

1943. It is Christmas. All around the world, children write diaries to somehow cope with the unbelievable experiences they are send through during wartimes and turmoil. The slightly older sister of Antonia Katharina`s mother is 9 years old when she describes the events of one single night through her childish eyes. A destiny that leaves deep impressions on ones soul and won`t leave anyone untouched.
A wonderful reminder of the peaceful times we are allowed to live in today.

• Sprache: Deutsch
• Herausgeber: TWENTYSIX
• Erscheinungsdatum: 15. Nov. 2017
• ISBN: 9783740737801

Antonia Katharina Tessnow

Vieles von dem, was wir gemeinhin über die Vertreibung der Deutschen nach dem Zweiten Weltkrieg zu wissen glauben, wird von Augenzeugen- und Erfahrungsberichten aus jener Zeit widerlegt. Auch dieses kleine Buch veranschaulicht das Zeitzeugnis von Betroffenen, das damit den Tiefen der Zeit und der Kluft des Vergessens entrissen ist. Glücklicherweise wurden diese Aufzeichnungen viele Jahre lang aufbewahrt, die nun aufgearbeitet und niedergeschrieben wurden. Mögen diese Erinnerungen die Seelen der Menschen berühren und sie davor bewahren, die Geschichte zu wiederholen. Möge das Gewissen eines jeden Menschen für Unrecht, Unterdrückung und politisch indoktrinierten Hass sensibilisiert werden. Und mögen all die Menschen, welche die Last eines ungerechten und überflüssigen Krieges zu tragen hatten, niemals vergessen sein. Webseite der Verfasserin: www.antonia-katharina.de

Buchvorschau

For all who suffered war and violence

From the diary of my mothers sister

Berlin 1944

We lived in Berlin Mahlsdorf, while in spring of 1943 the bomb attacks of the city increased to such a massive intent, that they reached the suburbs. They've just started to build a big bunker in our neighborhood, ever since more and more families got buried alive in the basements of their houses. This is why my father decided to send us children to the countryside, where it was relatively safe.

Ketzin is a small, quiet village, surrounded by the most beautiful fields and woods. The landscape looked like fairyland to us. One of my fathers friends, a war veteran from world war I, owned a farm. There we were welcomed by his family and stayed for several months. Our mother and we two little girls were sent here to recover from horrors and the fright of the bomb-war.

Ketzin is only 150 Miles away from Berlin, but we didn't notice anything of the daily bomb attacks of the cities. In the beginning I mistrusted the quietness. I was so full of tension that I was ready to snap off and jump to find safety and protection at any given time. It took