Blackout

The bombs had torn open the street, digging deep craters into the pavement, which hindered the fleeing people. The street surface was hot and steaming, the soles of our shoes stuck to it with every step. Brick walls collapsed with a roaring thunder, complete outer walls of houses came tumbling down onto the sidewalks in front and behind us, while some of the bricks rolled all the way to the center of the street. Small and large objects shot through the air and came crashing down unexpectedly, throwing people to the ground. Bodies were lying in the street, some burned beyond recognition. Injured people called for help. I repeated to myself, keep going, we must get away from here, don’t think about anything, don’t stop, don’t look! People shrieked in terror, sank down before our eyes, but how could we have helped? We simply drove around them with our carriages, once we were even forced to climb partly over a dead person, if we didn’t want to get trampled down ourselves or separated. The wet sheets, which I had hung over the carriages, had been dried by the hot winds within minutes and were flapping in the air. I tied them faster to the hood in order to protect you children at least from smoke and burning particles. Some red-hot object hit me at the hairline, burning my hair, but the wind had already swept it away before I could wipe it off. People merged into the Fürstenstraße from all sides, pushing in the direction of the river. The air got hotter and smokier, with every step it became more difficult to breathe. I was forced to breathe through my mouth, which was already dry, my tongue felt like a lump, sticking to my palate. My mucous membranes were inflamed, my throat felt so sore that I could hardly speak anymore and my lungs were beginning to burn from smoke inhalation. The pressure on my chest increased, I panted and coughed, but couldn’t find a lozenge in my coat pocket, although I always had some, especially during winter. Neither could we stop to drink something. I tried to swallow and work up some saliva, then I saw the fire again. The hot gusts of wind seized everything with more force than I could ever have imagined. Objects burst into flames in mid-air, driving and twirling the burning in all directions with increasing speed. The wind threw everything it could get hold of, it threw to the fire to be consumed instantly. It pulled and tugged at our coats, it catapulted burning things through the air, lifted off entire roofs before our eyes and carried them several meters through the air, before smashing them down in front of our feet, so that they barricaded the street as the beams burned.

Flames shot out of windows and leapt up the outer walls of houses, roof tiles were flung through the air, hitting us on the back, while the raging firestorm swept with unnatural force down into the streets, lifting people off their feet, carrying them along several meters and then dropping them again. They screamed, fell to the ground and could not get back up fast enough, and so were trampled to death by the shoving masses. I saw people flare up like torches and burn to death before our eyes and no one could save them. It seemed that if you touched them or their clothes, you caught fire too.

The firestorm tore a child out of a mother’s arms right in front of my eyes, throwing it into a burning puddle. She ran after her child and reached for it, only to catch fire herself, and so they both burned to death. You never knew where the flames might catch you. I witnessed the whirlwind tear the clothes off people’s bodies, then grab them and suck them along the street, then suddenly change direction, leaving them for dead. Others tore their burning clothes from their bodies, running on aimlessly and half-naked. Families held each other tightly by their hands to keep from losing one another, only to be torn apart by the firestorm, never to find each other again. The smoke grew heavier, the visibility got worse. I saw hands shoot up and reach for things, hands that dropped things as the wind carried along whatever it could get hold of, twirling objects away like leaves of parchment until they caught fire in mid-air. Desperate parents yelled for their children, old people had lost their relatives and didn’t know where to turn while their calls were drowned out by the hissing noises around us.

knew that we were on the Fürstenstraße, but I had lost all orientation on the street where I knew every house, every wall, every tree, every lantern and streetcar stop. I could not estimate how far we had come, but I suddenly realized that we were headed in the wrong direction. It was an intuition that helped me make my decision to turn around and walk against the stream of people toward the Große Garten. The park was closer than the Elbe and I knew we would get enough oxygen there to breathe more freely again, and we would be relatively safe from falling and burning objects. I shouted to Omi, “We are not getting through to the river, we must try to reach the Große Garten!” And we turned around in the middle of the street, against all instructions and previous agreements with friends and neighbors, against all better judgment and the generally accepted opinion that the open meadows at the Elbe river would be the safest place in case of a bombing attack, and headed in the opposite direction. We had to fight hard against the increasing number of people, who stumbled toward us from the old town, so that we were repeatedly in danger of being trampled.

I didn’t think that the allied forces would drop bombs over the Große Garten. When I read reports later I learned differently. Even so, we were lucky we lived on the Fürstenstraße, one of the splendid wide streets of Dresden, which had trees on either side and lead through the Große Garten straight down to the river banks. There were wide sidewalks and in the middle of the street were the streetcar tracks. The wind could sweep down into the street, bringing us oxygen while pulling the poisonous smoke back up into the air.