The following is a translation by me (Arnis Buza) of a handwritten journal written by my father Herbert Buza. It is titled-H.Buscha-Noticen. I believe it was written while he was recovering from a bomb shrapnel wound in a hospital in Danzig as he mentions in the writing that the days in the hospital after the operation are very long and boring. He also tried to Germanize his last name into how the family last name would be pronounced in Latvian, as in Latvia the "z" would have had a check mark over it to give it the "scha" sound. My mother would relate many times that my father was anxious to learn German and thus he gave the title as "Noticen" or Notes. I was 5.5 years old when these events took place. Of the events described I only have one vivid memory- the bombing in Liepaja and the horrible night in the shelter in the power station even though I didn't know it was a power station at the time. Later on I remember the nightly air raids while we were moving west through Germany. My mother later related that these were while we were in Rostock. I looked at the war through a child's eyes(after all I was a child then and perhaps still am). My brother and I could find fun even in the most dire of circumstances, not realizing that we were witnesses to the horrible struggle that our parents were going through to keep us safe in our unsafe surroundings. I am amazed that my father did not lose track of us all even though he was separated from us for over two weeks. I am also pleased to see that he didn't lose all of his sarcastic sense of humor throughout this ordeal.
H. Buscha
Noticen.
October 28.1944. We rode in a heavy German truck into Liepaja. We stopped at the harbor side and received cards for the ship and immediately we and our belongings were loaded on the ship.. We were happy and thought we were lucky as we heard that the ship was going to sail in the afternoon.. However things did not happen as expected. At 2:00 pm in the afternoon, the sirens started and Russian airplanes arrived over the harbor. All the ships in the harbor fired on the planes from their anti-aircraft batteries. Land based batteries also fired on the planes. My family ran from the canal shore and hid in the shelter dug in the power station yard. I stayed on the ship with our belongings. I stood cramped in a corner behind a large iron pipe but nevertheless, a piece of bomb shrapnel hit me in the cheek. In the first moments I did not understand what was happening as I was stunned from the explosion (the bomb hit about 7 meters from me on the shore of the canal by the side of the ship), and I only felt that I had been hit by something on my cheek and one of my teeth was loose. Soon I felt something warn was running down my neck. I did not feel much pain but understood that I had received a wound. I pressed a glove against my cheek and left the ship as the attack was over. An indescribable scene was developing on the shore: horses were thrashing on the ground, smashed wagons, a few autos burning, people in a panic rushing around, some wounded with faces covered with soot, torn clothing. Mine however god had protected as they returned healthy and hardy from the shelter. I learned later that on the ship, a refugee woman had been killed, one soldier and several wounded, amongst these was I. The ship had started to burn and everyone was running with abandon to save their belongings. We also carried all our belongings to the shore and stored them in the power station yard. Others did the same. Some German by the gate remarked: "When are you ever going to stop carrying your junk?" Bomb shrapnel had ruined some of our things. Again losses but nothing could be done about it. . A mixed Latvian/Russian family from Rezekne in the Latgale region who had been loaded on the ship at the same time as us stated that after all that had happened, they would refuse to travel any further to Germany. The father of this family had also been wounded lightly in the foot. We however thought, "If you had started to go down this path then you must travel it to the end."
My wound was dressed twice-in the power station by some German and later on the ship by some Latvian medic.
It was already late in the afternoon, the sun-the loving Latvian sun, was preparing to set…..A question full of worry came over me, what to do, where to spend the night with small children as we had no-one we knew around. We couldn't leave our belongings behind as there were dock workers, "Stalin's sons", lurking around and looking for something to grab. At last, with the help of a Latvian soldier, we managed to get into the previously mentioned shelter to spend the night. That night was spent full of fear and in utter despair. The ship lay somewhat over on its side and one end was burned out.
October 29,1944. Early in the morning we set out to find another ship as there were plenty in the harbor. With luck we found a large ship "Mimi Horn" which was leaving that same day (it was Saturday) for Danzig. We loaded up and prayed to God for a trip with a happy ending. We left the dock in Liepaja at approximately 10am. but remained standing in the harbor mouth for a long time, we got underway in the evening at approximately 6:pm. This was necessary in order to organize a caravan with protection. We traveled all night and arrived in the harbor in Danzig only on the evening of the second day at 7:00pm The trip in a vessel crowded and overloaded with people and belongings was very difficult. However it was good that we didn't have to stand on an open deck, but below deck in a huge room. Soldiers together with refugees, head next to a head, feet next to feet, in between bundles of belongings….you hear spoken several languages: German, Latvian, Estonian, Polish and Russian, small children are crying and asking for milk and a bed…. In some corner a German soldier is playing a song on and accordion about a White Gull, somewhere else a record player is making noises about white lilacs…somewhere else a Latvian folk song….Very pleasant, no? However these are only outward appearances, faces for the most part appear sad and serious. Some thoughtfully inspect the life preservers that have been given to everyone, and ask if in an emergency they will be able to remain above the water, as it is late in the fall and the wet element is cold….It is good that the weather mostly calm and the waves in the sea are small - the ship is barely rocking. There is hardly any news about the much talked about, terrible seasickness… Some are going above to "feed the fish" but these are rare occurrences.
If only the Almighty would protect us all from Russian airplanes and submarines. I am estimating that on the ship are more than 1000 people and amongst them many small children who have no sense of any present emergency; only the mothers and fathers worried glances and the murmurs of quiet prayers.
Later in Danzig there were tales that two torpedoes had passed our ship. Maybe that is true as at one point on the sea there was an alarm and the ship changed course and changed its speed. Shortly after that there also appeared some German submarine.
Food or even warm coffee was not given out. Only with endless pleading were you able to get something out of the soldier's kitchens of which there were several on board.
It was good that there was no shortage of drinking water.
October 30, 1944. On a foggy evening we arrived in the harbor of Danzig. We had to wait a long time until we were unloaded. For the first settlement place we were shown a huge empty harbor warehouse which was opposite to the ship. A cold, damp cement slab, with almost no straw. For the children it was possible to gather some and warmly cover them. Both of us were freezing and trembling from the cold. About buttered bread and warm coffee there is no news… It seems we are not expected guests, but let it be so, we however have at least had one heavy stone rolled from the heart - beneath our feet we have solid ground again and there are no knife bearing Mongolians standing at the door…
Besides, it appears that in the harbor vicinity one can walk wherever he wants.
October 31, 1944. Today it is the 12th anniversary since I buried my mother in my native soil. Now I am in Germany and do not know what lies ahead. I walked in the large hall and thought, when will this suffering cease. We have been traveling now for more than a month. What have we not experienced and seen ! Oh, the ruin of the Latvian nation. Liepaja with its hundreds of refugees with small children languishing in an empty field with all their belongings while any moment threatened with an attack from Russian airplanes, with all the bombs….Oh my God, I don't even want to think about it! However, the bombs fell, buildings were ground up, people were killed and wounded, amongst them also refugees. With my own eyes in the vicinity of the harbor I saw killed horses, broken wagons, belongings thrown about from even earlier air attacks. Where one day earlier (October 27) there was the Latvian T. P. office (Rigas Street No 11), there on the 28th were ruins under which we were told people were buried. But what good does it do to think and lament! It is a sad and dreadful truth of war. In the new section of Liepaja, almost all of the windows in buildings have been broken, The old town section of Liepaja looks a little better.
This morning we again wait for warm coffee. At last it is brought out and distributed. Of buttered bread there is none….It was not so necessary immediately but the coffee was a necessity as the children were always asking : "Mommy, give me drink" but we had nothing more than cold water. All this cuts the heart like a knife. Eating for me is difficult, my mouth hurts and a small piece of bread cut into smaller pieces, I gummed for at least a half hour. I am waiting for a doctor as it is told that he will come to look at my wound and dress it again. My appearance is terrifying: around my head are the dressings prepared by the medic in Liepaja, on top of that is a towel, soaked with blood, all of this is held together with a women's kerchief. However on the very top to prevent any misunderstandings- my hat.
At last the doctor came. He was German and was accompanied by a nurse. He looked at my wound and said that he needs an x-ray in order to determine where the bomb fragment is. How am I to do this in a strange city with strange people, and above all that my status as a refugee probably does not provide me with considerable rights. In addition, one of my children is suffering with a heavy cold. In between this the registration was very simple: the papers were stamped with a marking that the German border had been crossed.
However God did help- a plan is developed: an automobile from the city hospital arrives and tells me to go with them. What am I to do, where will my family stay , maybe they will be sent to some camp and then we will be separated? And maybe we will not be able to communicate. When they promised to take care that our ties would not be broken, I went with them and along with me came several others.
The city hospital is a entirely new, beautiful building complex, with many divisions.
They bring me into a pretty entry hall where everything shines brightly and I am so dirty.
They sit me in a chair and a doctor comes to inspect the wound. Then registration, where they ask very detailed questions, even my fathers name and employment history. I started to think to myself, that soon they will ask when my grandfather and grandmother were born and what did they do. They were not that mean however. A constant thought is running through my head like an ant- If only I could get into a bathtub.. And it arrives, large, shiny white, filled with warm water. Oh my God, this is good luck! If only my family could be here!. But with all this good luck there is a dark side - no soap.
I search all around the bath but there is none. There is only a small rag. I ask an aide, who answers that there really is none.. That's that, I climb into the bath and begin to scrub. However how are you going to get your head clean without soap, as the Russian bomb has left a large deposit of soot in my hair and ear and maybe even oil as my hair is very sticky. My head remained "half gray".
I wash myself and dry myself in a sheet. I am comfortable and feel good. Trhey hand me a hospital "uniform" shirt, striped blue pants and jacket. Then they bring me to the x-ray cabinet through a long, glue bulb lit corridor. The x-ray is taken by some nurse.
I was amazed with the speed in which the x-ray was developed. It was less than 5 minutes when the nurse came in with the photograph and showed me: "Look, here is the shrapnel". Just like in Riga by the red (spikeri) fast photographers.
I am brought upstairs in a wide hospital ward where I am shown a bed. It is white and soft. Supper is also brought. What more could one want under these circumstances. Only my homeland is bleeding and my family is languishing in a cold harbor warehouse.
November 1, 1944. Although on the previous night the nurse gave me a sleeping pill, I could not sleep very soundly. Nerves.. they are not out of a (sharpening stone)???? One of the patients made a long speech in his sleep. He did not want to stop but finally an on duty nurse woke him up. At 6:00 am it is time to get up and wash. Then the rooms are swept, mopped and the rooms are aired out. At 7:30 am there is breakfast with bitter coffee with milk and 5 small pieces of bread with a thin spread of butter. On some you find slices of sausage or slices of cheese. I note that breakfast is always the same thing. Also supper is very similar to breakfast. Only rarely is there a flour soup or leftovers from lunch. For lunch there is usually a thick and somewhat tasty vegetable soup.. Fat or meat you don't see in the soup very much. There is also desert and a cup of flour gruel. In between, before lunch is a cup of skim milk without bread, but in the afternoon coffee and two slices of bread smeared with marmalade. Such is our menu. You will not starve, however from one meal to the next, at least for me, squirrels are dancing in my stomach.
The patients a varied, but for the most part civilians. Some have broken hands or legs, another has blood poisoning, some others have internal operations or tumors on various body parts.
November 2, 1944. It is now my second day in the hospital but no one talks to me about an operation. When is it going to be? I want to get well soon according to my abilities and return to my family who are in a camp in Gotenhafen. My wife has written that it is pretty bad there-there is no scarcity of lice, fleas or bedbugs. Enough food is given out but it is wanting in nutritional value. The doctor however did stop and told me that I would be operated on in the morning. Thank God, the sooner the better.
November 3, 1944. This morning I get nothing to eat. Who knows what they are going to do- is it going to be a narcotic or a local anesthetic with cocaine. At around 11:00 am they take me downstairs to the operating building. I must wait a little bit. Around 11:30 they take me in. First I get a shot of something in my behind. That gives me a strange tiredness.
Then they lead me directly into the operating room and lay me down on a peculiar table and fasten my hands and middle body, my feet remain free. They tell me that there will not be a complete anesthesia. Several shots are placed in my jaw and soon after that I feel that they are cutting. I can see nothing as my eyes are covered, I also feel no pain. Very soon I feel pincers being pressed inside and they begin to search. The first time no success but the second time the doctor says that it is out. He places the shrapnel, wrapped in dressing into my right hand. It will be a remembrance even if a dreadful one….Re-dressing the wound goes quick and soon I am back upstairs in the old place.
November 4, 1944. Days now become boring, One day is like the previous one,. Like an egg looking at another egg. Nothing significant happens. It is dull. I read German newspapers, unknown words I ask Germans. I am learning German and I must say that I have learned many new words. In the smoking room the Germans sometimes tell some pretty rich anecdotes. In particular a fat, jovial man, "Uncle Gustav" seems to be produce them as from witchcraft.
I will try to describe some of the personalities of the people who are helping us. Our head nurse an older tall woman walks around in her white uniform as if even an egg would not roll off her head. Her lips are a always tightly shut as the saying goes "sleifite" ???? In the beginning when I looked at her closer I had a thought that she is a true "café aunt" ??? type. And later I observed her other times together with other nurses in the room sitting by the table at breakfast or dinner. Her manner of sitting, taking of food, the smile-all really like the caricature of a "café aunt". However she has a good heart-She distributes the food fairly, if you want more she gives from the remainder until the last drop or bread crumb. She also understands my situation and permits that which is forbidden-washing of laundry and drying it on the central heating pipes.
The head covering of the nurses here is strange. While Latvia they were simple and elegant, here they are strangely bent, heavily starched with bends and sharp corners. I don't know if in all Germany they are that way. The doctors walk around in white pants and white jackets.
In our ward a housekeeper works who form the first time I saw her reminded me of a wasp: small, thin body and legs like splints, with cheeks yellow like the covers of a book. Her age is approximately 26-27 years. Dark hair and dark glowing eyes. Sometimes at breakfast I ask her to pour a little bit more milk into my coffee.. Oh how her eyes would burn and from her teeth would come a sharp question-Why? A few drops however she would pour in but I could see that milk remained. Sometimes when she straightened my bed , a lump would be in the blanket. The wasp saw this and started to teach me how to spread the cover. I just waved my hand and turned away. Then she would look angry at me as she sensed that her long chatter meant nothing to me and was not sinking into my old head. Whenever she was at the breakfast bread distribution, it was rarely, then always the pieces of bread were smaller than from the other distributors. About the others I have nothing special to say. They do their work and are polite and kind.
A rarity in Germany is good pigs meat as I saw from one instance. My wife sent me a small can of pigs meat conserves. A soldier in the "Kurzeme" region had given it to me as a gift. I went into the kitchen to open it. One of the nurses asked what I had. I answered that I had pigs meat conserves. She asked to smell it. I could see that saliva was forming in her mouth. I could not give her any as there was so little for myself.
November 16, 1944. I must leave the hospital in the morning as I am considered to have recovered.. The wound has really healed. I only feel pain in my mouth where the tooth was knocked out and I have a cough, as from the cold I have caught bronchitis.
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