后记 | Afterword
1945年
19.3 星期一
凌晨四点起床。早上6点吃了一些面包和1/2升粥，然后准备行军。我去找医生换药。非常疼。经过漫长的等待，下午2点，行军的命令来了。霍夫纳帮我背了我的背包。我从拉班到佩斯克雷查姆的旅程一路都在受罪，一到地方，我们就被立即塞进在货运列车车厢。每个车箱1组 = 40 人。晚上7点出发。
20.3 星期二
在货运列车车厢里的第一个晚上，难以忍受的痛苦。我们的车厢是用来运输牲口的，有两层。上下各有10个人躺着。中间有一个炉子，一侧有一个斜槽供我们解手，远远不够。车门是锁着的，在旅途中只能打开两个缝隙。 4个人的食物是1个面包、1汤匙糖和1/4升粥。
21.3 星期三
我的背部疼痛难忍，医生还没有来。一位同志脱下我的敷料，挤出涌出的脓液。其他人让我用他们的绷带。一条新鲜的绷带是一种真正的祝福。到晚上7点我们只走了很少一段，经过48小时，我们到达了Krakau。食物和昨天一样。
22.3 星期四
水非常稀缺。无法清洗，口粮不超过1/4升。足够洗漱并在紧要关头泡茶。我和赫夫纳同志尽最大努力做饭。我们焦虑地看着着煤炭被逐渐用完。晚上很冷，食物和前几天一样。我们今天到达了塔尔诺。我的疖子困扰着我，脓需要被挤出来。给我治病的同志说我的背上有个滤茶器一样的洞。
23.3 星期五
列车主要在晚上才开动，白天很少。睡得不好；疖子使我不安。早餐后（和前几天一样），医生终于同情并给我穿上了衣服。他说这是一个痈，我很幸运能活着今天我们到达了普济米塞尔。
24.3 星期六
火车之旅让每个人都感到紧张。燃料快用完了。贫瘠的风景更添了令人沮丧的情绪。一位同志给我做了新的敷料，挤出了脓液。难以忍受的疼痛。我的3 件衬衫都浸透了脓液。食物和前几天一样。我们在当天早些时候到达伦贝格，下午12点到达塔尔诺波尔
25.3 星期日
今天医生在外面包扎了我的伤口并取出了一些脓肿。我们戒备森严。早上，一名军官来窥探我们的马车。我的包引起了他的注意。只有我背上的脓肿让他相信我需要这个袋子，并被允许保留它。食物和往常一样
26.3 星期一
用四分之一面包换了调味品。它渗出很多。煤已经用完了，车厢里白天和晚上一样冷。我们锯开并烧了一块木板来取暖。食物中没有糖。同样还想说的是我们隔天才能得到水。人们对水如此贪婪，以至于我们已经在受苦。许多人有腹泻。白天到达Schirowogrod，
27.3 星期二
命运多舛的一天。今天早上，当火车突然停下时，我们正在锯另一块木板。我们的车门打开了，一个军官进来了。他问组长，问他是谁命令的，然后他用棍子打了组长。他检查了我们的包，要了所有的刀，包括小刀、剃须刀、手表、斧头和锯子。食物和昨天一样。穿越第聂伯罗彼得罗夫斯克，穿越第聂伯河。
28.3 星期三
经过9天的旅行终于到了。被从睡眠中揪起来；做好准备！走出寒冷的马车，进入更寒冷的夜晚。风在我们周围呼啸。数了好几圈，分成几组，站了许久，终于走到了我们的住处。在被允许进入营地之前再次被点数。在大楼里，我们被威胁要求所有刀具，包括小刀、剃须刀、手表和珠宝，都必须上交。最终被分配到我们的房间，在这里我的手表被抢走了。大约有100人住在这里。没有睡觉的机会。
1978年
8.6 星期五
我们是在1978年6月8日早上离开的，那是我姨妈玛丽亚的生日。在我们的最后一晚，我们都和她在一起。我的表兄弟和我在一个小房间里，所有的成年人都在狭窄的客厅里。我们乘坐出租车到车站，这是我们以前从未做过的事情。全家人都聚集在了站台上。我们只带了几个袋子；两天的食物，衣物和一个枕头。父母清理我们的公寓后，所剩无几。两周前，我们寄出三个装满基本物品的木箱，开始新生活 运费很贵，所以你只带了必需品。其余的被丢弃或扔进垃圾箱。无论如何，我们没有太多有价值的财产可以出售。在我们离开之前。我的父母向国家支付了巨额资金，作为“谢谢”和驱逐令。每个离开的人都需要付出，作为一种惩罚对贡献给国家。
我看到火车从远处，从卡托维兹驶来。我妈妈开始哭了，天哪，她怎么哭了。没有回头路。我们离开了过去的生活，开始了我们无法预料的冒险。那时我只有十岁。火车停了，我父亲开始跑向西德的马车。我想他还是害怕会发生什么意想不到的事情，火车会离开他。那是特殊的车厢，专为那些去前往西方的叛徒们准备的。我们找到了我们的隔间并降低了窗户。最后的话和眼泪。我看到了我的姑姑，我妈妈最小的姐妹。她会是什么感觉？在她生日那天！
我们听到汽笛声，火车开动了。四十五年后，我的父母离开了扎布热。大约一分钟后，我们经过了我们的旧后院，只是瞥了一眼。然后我们看到了我们的教堂及其美丽的墓地。马车在不平衡的轨道上摇晃。下一站是格利维采，我祖父和父亲的出生地。雷纳特阿姨和曼弗雷德叔叔在站台上向我们挥手告别。玛丽安阿姨和冈瑟叔叔也来了。同样的场景，眼泪和祈祷。
然后我们的漫长旅程开始了：奥波莱、弗罗克托、莱格尼察、博莱斯塔维茨。我们越过波兰的一半，越过标志着与东德边界的奈瑟桥，前往莱比锡。车厢此时已经锁上了。我父亲非常紧张，警察不断来，寻找走私者。妄想症。在莱比西亚休息了三个小时，父亲的朋友又来了一次，火车终于开往西方了。我们只能通过窗户说话，不能离开火车。我的父母现在会说德语。它几乎感觉就像德国，当然与波兰不同。民主德国更令人兴奋。回忆浮出水面——我五岁的时候和妈妈和兄弟一起去过那里。那时我父亲不被允许去。玛丽塔和彼得接待了我们，是我父亲多年前在格利维采交的朋友。他和彼得都对微型火车和汽车充满热情，我父亲在一家波兰玩具店帮助他翻译。一生的友谊。多亏了他们，我们和邻居们度过了一个不一样的圣诞节。他们寄到我们扎布热的小公寓的所有包裹，口香糖上的咖啡、糖果和唐老鸭的味道。
夜幕降临，灯光突然从黄色变成了白色。然后我知道我在西德。火车在午夜后到达汉诺威。我们一直呆在红十字站，直到几个小时后，一辆公共汽车把我们带到了我们的第一个营地弗里德兰。我仍然记得每个难民都有一个小的得宝巧克力棒、一些字母饼干和一条毯子。我父亲仍然每天在床上使用那些毯子。
2013年
3.5 星期五
在过去的几年里，我走遍了欧洲，寻找我的家族历史的痕迹，这段历史受到二战后移民的影响。这段旅程将我从奥斯陆的家中带到了埃森（德国）、格利维采（波兰），最后到达了乌克兰的顿涅茨克。奥斯陆与乌克兰东部之间的距离约为4,323公里。火车旅行在我家族的历史中扮演了重要角色，所以我也乘火车旅行。
使用35毫米胶片，我通过火车窗记录了欧洲迅速变化的景色，一直到乌克兰城市代巴尔泽沃。1945年，我的祖父与数千名上西里西亚人一起死在监狱集中营。他于2月16日从德国的格莱维茨被驱逐出境，留下了妻子和四个孩子。他用了10个月的时间写日记，直到1945年10月5日，距离他45岁生日只有两个月。他的坟墓不为人知，只剩下我从父亲那里继承的小日记，用小字体写在日历上。
二战后，德国东部被划归波兰。 Gleiwitz变成了Gliwice，剩下的德国人被迫接受新的文化。经过长期的生存斗争和被迫的政治性失业，我父亲终于被允许离开波兰。他45岁。1978年7月8日，全家乘火车离开格利维采，前往西德埃森市开始新生活。
火车带着我的祖父走向死亡，又将我的家人带往了新的生活。 2013年，在阅读了祖父的日记后，我决定拜访他在 Debalzewo 不为人知的墓地。在我离开前不久，我也已经45岁了。
欧洲在二战后的伤口似乎已经被治愈。 国家重建，新社会发展。但一种耻辱感代代相传，影响着我们的日常生活和决定。我从旅途中回来八个月后，顿涅茨克地区爆发了一场新的冲突，导致一场持续的战争。
1945
19.3 Monday
Woken at 4 am. Bread and 1/2 litre of gruel at 6 am and then got ready to march. I went to the doctor for a dressing. It hurts a lot. After a long wait, the order to march came at 2 pm. Hoefner helped me to carry my haversack. My journey of suffering from Laband to Peiskretscham, Upon arriving we were immediatelv bundled into the wagons. In one wagon 1 group = 40 men. Set off at 7 pm.
20.3 Tuesday
First night in the wagon, unbearable pain. The cattle wagon we are kept in has 2 floors. Up and down 10 men lie on each side. There was a stove in the middle and a sloping groove on one side for us to relieve ourselves, not sufficient. The wagon doors were locked and only 2 gaps could be opened during the journey. Food for 4 men was 1 bread, 1 tablespoon of sugar and ¼ litre of gruel.
21.3 Wednesday
The pain in my back is unbearable and the medic has not come. A comrade took off my dressing and squeezed out the gushing pus. Others let me have their bandages. A fresh bandage is a true blessing. We travel so little At 7 pm, after 48 hours, we reached Krakau. Food same as yesterdav.
22.3 Thursday
Water is very scarce. Washing is impossible, ration is no more than 1/4 litre. Enough to wash up and make some tea at a pinch. My comrade Hoefner and I do our best to cook. We anxiously await the day when the coal will run out. The nights are very cold, Food same as the previous days. We reached Tarnow today. My boil is troubling me and the pus needs to come out. The comrade who treated me says my back has holes like a tea strainer.
23.3 Friday
We travel mainly at night, very little in the day. Slept badly; the boil gives me no peace. After breakfast (same as the previous days) the medic finally took pity and dressed me. He says it is a carbuncle and I am lucky to be alive Today we reached Przimyssel.
24.3 Saturday
The train journey is getting on everyone'S nerves. Fuel is running out. The view of the barren landscape adds to the dismal mood. A comrade made me a new dressing and squeezed out the pus. Excruciating pain. My 3 shirts are soaked in pus. Food same as the days before. We reached Lemberg early in the day and Tarnopol at 12 pm
25.3 Sunday
Today the medic dressed my wound outside and removed some lumps of pus. We are heavily guarded. In the morning an officer came to snoop around our wagons. My bag caught his eye. Only the abscess on my back convinced him that I need the bag and was allowed to keep it. Food was as usual
26.3 Monday
Traded a quarter of bread for a dressing. It is oozing a lot. The coal has run out and the wagon is as cold by day as by night. We sawed up and burned a plank to get some warmth. There was no sugar with the food. Also want to say that we only get water every other day. People are so greedy with the water that we are already suffering. Many have diarrhea. Reached Schirowogrod during the day.
27.3 Tuesday
A fateful day. We were sawing up another plank this morning when the train stopped suddenly. Our wagon door opened and an officer came in. He asked for the group leader and asked him who had ordered it Then he beat the group leader with a stick. He inspected our bags and demanded all knives, including penknives, razors, watches, axes and saws. Food same as yesterday. Travelled through Dnepropetrovsk and crossed the Dneiper.
28.3 Wednesday
Finally arrived after 9 days of travel. Torn from sleep; Get ready! Out of the cold wagon into the even colder night. The wind howled around us. Were counted several fimes and divided into groups, then stood for a long time, then finally marched to our accommodation. Were counted again before being let into the camp. In the building itself we were threatened that all knives, including penknives, razors, watches and jewellery had to be handed over. Were finally assigned to our room and here I was robbed of my watch. Around 100 people housed here. No chance of sleep.
1978
8.6. Friday
We left on the morning of 8th June 1978, my Aunt Maria's birthday. On our last night, we all stayed with her. My cousins my brother and I in one small room and all the adults in the cramped living room. We took a taxi to the station, something we had never done before. The whole family gathered on the train platform. We brought just a few bags; food for two days. cothes and a pillow. There wasn't much left after my parents dismantled our flat. Two weeks before, three wooden con- tainers had been sent filled with basic items to start a new life Shipping was expensive, so you only took the essentials. The rest was given away or thrown in the garbage. Anyway, we didn't have much property of any value to sell. Before we left. my parents paid a huge amount of money to the state, as both a "thank you" and an eviction order. Everyone who lef needed to pay, a kind of punishment and reward to the state.
I saw the train approaching from far away, from Katowice. My mum started crying, oh my God, how she cried. There was no return. We were leaving a life and beginning an adventure we could not predict. I was only ten years old at the time. The train stopped and my father started running to the West German carriage. I think he was still afraid that something unexpected might happen and the train would leave without him. It was a special carriage, just for those who were travelling to the West the betrayers. We found our compartment and lowered the window. Last words and tears. I saw my aunt, the youngest of my mum's sisters. How must she have felt? On her birthday!
We heard the whistle and the train moved. My parents were leaving Zabrze after forty-five years. After about a minute, we passed our old backyard, just a brief glimpse. We then saw our church with its beautiful cemetery. The carriage rocked on the lopsided tracks. The following stop was Gliwice, my grandfather's and father's birth town. Aunt Renate and Uncle Manfred were on the platform waving us goodbye. Aunt Marianne and Uncle Gunther came too. The same scene, tears and prayers.
Then our long journey began: Opole, Wroctaw, Legnica, Bolestawiec. We crossed half of Poland, over the Neisse Bridge, which marked the border with East Germany and headed for Leipzig. The carriage was locked by now. My father was so nervous, and police were constantly arriving, looking for smugglers. Paranoia. After a three-hour break in Leipzia and another visit from my father's friends, the train finally moved towards the West. We were only allowed to speak through the windows, not to leave the train. My parents spoke German by now. It almost felt like Germany, certainly different from Poland. The GDR was more exciting. Memories surfaced -I had been there before, when I was five, together with my mum and my brother. My father wasn't allowed to go by then. Marita and Peter were our hosts, friends my father had made years ago in Gliwice. He and Peter both shared a passion for miniature trains and cars and my father helped him with translations in a Polish toyshop. A friendship for life. Thanks to them, we enjoyed a different Christmas to our neighbours. All the packages they sent to our tiny flat in Zabrze, the smell of coffee, sweets and Donald Duck on the chewing gum.
It was night when the lights suddenly changed from yellow to white. Then I knew I was in West Germany. The train arrived in Hannover after midnight. We stayed at the Red Cross station until a bus took us to Friedland, our first camp, some hours later. I still remember that every refugee got a small Duplo chocolate bar, some letter biscuits and a blanket. My father still uses those blankets on his bed every day.
2013
3.5 Friday
Over the past few years, I have travelled across Europe searching for traces of my family history, a history significantiv influenced by migration as a result of the Second World War. This journey took me from my home in Oslo to Essen (Germany), Gliwice (Poland) and finally to Donetsk, Ukraine. The distance between Oslo and eastern Ukraine is approxi- mately 4,323 km. Train journeys played a central role in my family's history, and so l also travelled by train.
Working with 35 mm film, I documented the rapidly changing views of Europe through the train window, all the way down to the Ukrainian city of Debalzewo. My grandfather died there in a prison camp in 1945 together with several thousand Upper Silesians. He was deported from Gleiwitz in Germany on February 16th, leaving behind a wife and four children. For 10 months he wrote a daily diary, stopping on 5th October 1945, just two months away from his 45th birthday. His grave is unknown and all that remains is the small diary I inherited from my father, written on a calendar in tiny script.
After the Second World War, the eastern part of Germany was given to Poland. Gleiwitz became Gliwice, The remaining German population was forced to adopt the new culture. Following a lengthy existential struggle and forced political unemployment, my father was finally permitted to leave Poland. He was 45 years old. On 8th July 1978, my family left Gliwice by train to start a new life in the city of Essen in West Germany
Trains carried my grandfather to his death and my family to a new life. In 2013, after reading his diary, I decided to visit the area of his unknown grave in Debalzewo. Shortly before I left I turned 45.
It seems Europe has healed its wounds after the Second World War. Countries were rebuilt, new societies developed. But a feeling of shame was passed on from generation to generation, influencing our everyday lives and decisions Eight months after I returned from my journey, a new conflict erupted in the Donetsk region, leading to an ongoing war.