In the second half of the year 1942 my [1] husband [2] was granted special leave from the Army [3] to take charge of a Rural Boarding School which had to be established and should accommodate 100 boys. Such institutions were set up right through Eastern Germany by the Education Department for the purpose of teaching and training children of school-leaving age from families who had fled from various parts of Russia, or migrated back from other East European countries as part of a big settlement scheme in the eastern border districts of Germany. All those people were farmers of German descent; they had come from different small settlements in the East, which their forefathers had established a hundred years ago, when they left various parts of Germany for the East. Such settlements were found in the Ukraine, along the Don River, around the Black Sea and in the Volga River districts - where the people had come from Holstein, Southern Germany or East Prussia. Many of these settlers, most of whom were Protestants, obeyed a call by Queen Katharina of Russia, and attempted to preserve the characteristics of their homeland, namely: form of life, type and technique of building and tradework up to the present years. Even throughout the long years of Bolshevik rule, they kept together. Though undercover, they carried on religious work, and their congregations remained alive. In time, after they lost their pastors in the red revolution, they worked more or less on a sectarian basis, but many such settlements, especially the ones along the Black Sea, (the so-called Black Sea Germans) were Mennonites.
At that time in 1942, a big resettlement scheme like that for these refugees was quite a good idea, but it proved in the end to be a real disaster, for they lost their new farms and places again to the Russians, not to mention also their lives. However, everything was done then to settle the people, and their elder children had to undergo a one-year course in reading, writing and fundamental farmwork.
One of the many suitable places for such training, chosen by the Department, was an old country property on the eastern border of Germany, meaning the border as it was in 1914, this part was or is known to you as the Polish Corridor. The property, once owned by a German nobleman, had been used in the meantime for several purposes by the Polish government, and it was in a very neglected state and looked very unlikely as a good home for boys.
So when my husband arrived, a lot of work was necessary to get the place into shape and make of it a real home. In February 1943, I followed my husband with my eight week old baby, to be with him and also to avoid further worry from the air-raids on Cologne, where we used to sit night after night in our cellars, not knowing when a bomb would hit.
Adjoining the main building was a house, which we converted into a lovely home for ourselves. All buildings were surrounded by a very old, wild park, and the whole property was hidden in the midst of a pine forest. Tradesmen and builders working in shifts, tried to keep up with the set schedule to be finished the repairs for Easter.
The farms in this district were also in very poor condition, but with some good advice, finance, and the secured sales of farm products, there was a quick improvement. The soil was very light, quite sandy really, but very fertile. Many creeks cut through the landscape, with willows and alder trees along their banks, birches everywhere and the quiet pine forest round it all. It was really a picturesque landscape and so peaceful. The roads, since nothing had been done to them since 1914, were mainly unsealed, and the highways were far away. There were eight miles between us and the next village [4] with shops, and about 18 miles to the "Shiretown" of Wollstein [5], which is marked down in history as the place where Dr Robert Koch [6] worked as a medical practitioner, and it was here that he found the cause of TB [7] after long years of research: the tubercle bacillus.
Only five minutes walk from our house was a big inland lake, the size of which was 800 acres, where we could swim and also fish. Our only close neighbour was the district forester and his family - our farmer neighbours were all spread out.
As it was war, no cars were available, so the only means of transport were push bikes and horse-drawn vehicles. The farms, as I mentioned before, had been neglected, but were now converted into mixed farms producing milk, grain, oil-seed, potatoes, pumpkins and fodder for livestock. Some farmers concentrated on small crops and poultry. Many farmers around us grew certified bean- and/or pea- seeds. This was a place of short summers and long, cold winters. In winter, on the trips to town, besides rags and blankets, you had to put hot bricks on the floor of the coach to keep your feet warm.
In April, the first intake of boys arrived - they were pale with deep-set eyes. Soon the training began. The boys were a bit shy at first, but in a few days they were bright, joyful and full of life. The mornings started with a run through the park, some gymnastics, followed by a shower; then the boys made their beds and cleaned the house; some had to set the tables; some helped in the kitchen. After breakfast, classes were held until lunch-time; and the afternoon was filled with sport, gardening and farming. During the harvest time, the boys went daily to the farmers to help and learn for six hours. This was done in shifts as we had our own work to do too, and improvements to be made to our grounds. Soon the park was in very good shape and the farm was keeping us independent of outside supplies. We started a piggery, built poultry sheds, and we began to breed rabbits for an extra meat supply. The buildings were surrounded by nice gardens; we had planted a little orchard; and there were strawberries, and fodder for horses and poultry. So we were able to feed the boys above average meals, as the Department also gave us some supplies, like rice, cacao and orange-yam. There were no worries in the kitchen. We could cut timber for the sawmill from our bit of pine forest, and the sawmill supplied us with the materials we needed for additional alterations. When the summer started at last the buildings were looking like a boys' home. In manual training time, the boys made chairs and other useful things. A girls' home was about 20 miles away, and they were much better off. Being girls, they were allowed to move into a real "landcastle", which had always been used as a teaching institution. Sometimes we went over there with the boys, or they came to us, and we had folk dancing nights, or impromptu circuses, where the boys and girls could let their imagination run riot. These young folk really enjoyed their freedom, after living in Russia since childhood.
In May 1943, I lost my baby and as the school was understaffed anyway, I took the opportunity to help out. That first year went by very quickly, and we enjoyed ourselves to the full. Sometimes we would spend a few days in Cologne on vacation, and here we experienced again bombs and fire, and we realised how well off we were in the east.
But the war soon became very grim, and the whole east front was now on the defensive. Soon after the new intake of boys, Guido was born in 1944. Everyone looked after and fed him; in the daytime he slept on the balcony under an old apple tree, our shepherd dog keeping watch; and in the afternoon the boys were all eager to take Guido for a ride in the pram through the park, the dog still at his side.
Suddenly total war was declared, and every man was called into the forces. So my husband had to go again one day, and I was left with only one teacher in charge of the boys. The eastern front was now collapsing rapidly and our worries grew from day to day. The responsibility of 100 boys, who were not able to get to their parents, was a heavy one. Very soon it became clear to us that we had to join the big army of refugees already coming westwards and be prepared for an escape. We did not want the boys to fall into Russian hands again, and I didn't want to either. More and more districts were overrun by the Russians: it surely needed a miracle to stop them. I sent some parcels and ports to my husband's address, where he was stationed for a while - the trains into Germany were still running. Other things I packed in cases in readiness. Our once nice home now looked so empty, and Christmas 1944 was a very sad one. It was cold, snow fell heavily and I was alone with the baby and boys. In the middle of January 1945, a new offensive was started by the Russians, and as the first tanks got as close as 25 miles, we had to go. It was the 20th January when we left the place which we had built up, with so many ideas still uncompleted. It was cold and the snow was very deep as we marched along, taking only necessary things which we could carry, everything else being left behind. We had to keep walking to get to the Oder River, for soon all the roads would be blocked. We kept going through a snowstorm, with cold winds cutting our faces and lips. Along the tracks and roads, we passed tired people, horses, already so long on their march, who could go no further, and just waited for the end to come one way or the other. Not having enough food or any fire made things worse, and babies were the first victims of the cold death. Such pictures of misery and death are unforgettable for us, and should remain untold - no words can express what this experience meant to us. Guido was in his pram, rolled up in blankets, with a sheepskin to cover him, and for the time being he was quite satisfied like that. The hope of finding a train somewhere to bring us to safety faded more and more, as only military trains went eastwards, and only goods trains came back, the open wagons loaded full with human beings. Everywhere there was panic and fighting for survival, as the wagons were overloaded with woman, children and old people. They were packed in so tightly that they were quite unable to move their limbs - and all the time the snow fell, and the temperature was freezing. Mothers were holding their babies unaware or not believing that their babies had passed away. Old people in the same plight, without food and any exercise of their muscles, were soon overcome by the cold death.
We preferred rather to keep on marching and stay together. The boys were used to hardship from their early life, and they helped me considerably, but some were badly hampered by frostbite. Passing through villages, we were able to get hot water and sometimes additional food, and kind people always had some hot milk or a bit of porridge for Guido. Naturally we rationed our own food reserves. We kept on in daytime, and rested at night in barns, haysheds or stables among the cows. Our dog was still with us, guarding Guido - no stranger could get near the pram. We had crossed the Oder River a long time ago, and had been 10 days on the road, and still there was no sign of better transport or safety. Now we had crossed West Prussia and had come to Saxony, where communications and public services were still organised. Here I noticed that Guido was suffering too, and was getting sick. So I consulted an old doctor on the way, and he told me that the boy was very sick with abdominal catarrh and badly needed treatment.
All the time I had been hoping that my husband was still in his refresher course at the last-known address, and I knew that he was worried about what had become of us and whether we were safe. It was a wonder that I could get in touch with my husband by phone from a small township like this. But I did, and he told me to transfer the boys to the local authorities and come to him in Zwickau where was staying, and there he would arrange accommodation for me. So I had to leave the boys - it was not an easy decision. We learned after the war, that they had been transported to North Germany, where farmers looked after them, but we never knew if they were reunited with their parents.
Where I was now, the districts had not yet suffered so much from bombing, and the railways were still intact. So I did get a train, and my luggage could come with me too. After a good day's journey, I arrived in Zwickau, which is at the foot of the Erzgebirge Range, near the Czechoslovakian border. Guido was very sick now, and although my husband had arranged accommodation for me, there was no heating and nothing with which to care for Guido. A doctor sent him straight to a Children's Hospital, where he was seriously ill, as his stomach and bowels had been affected by frost. They never allowed me near him as he could not be disturbed. I could only look at him through a window. We never lost hope, but we were prepared for the worst. They fed him through the veins as he could not take any food.
Not very long after, bombing started here too. In Saxony, houses were very lightly-built, and soon there was heavy damage in the town. As it is a poor farming district, food was very scarce and even the ration cards could not procure for us what we wanted. Here there were only heavy industries and all the valleys round the town had their own factories. This area is now known as the East German uranium district, where after the war, Russia established slave mines; and under these terribly primitive conditions uranium is brought up.
At first the bombs were confined to military objects, but from experience in other towns, the whole population took to the hills and found cover in the forests as soon as the alarm was given. We certainly had our share of worries - hardly anything to eat, Guido in hospital, and our own safety never very sure. It should be added here that even hospitals with the Red Cross sign were not safe. One night when the planes came straight after the alarm was given, people who were racing from the inner city, only reached the cemetery where they tried to shelter under trees and shrubs near the graves. Over a thousand people were killed there in a few minutes. Survivors told a horrible story about the bombs doing their grisly job, ploughing over and over the cemetery, hymn-singing, prayers and explosions - it was a real inferno. The district had no protection, and no defence, because the military commanders, in an endeavour to protect the people, had forbidden any machine gun fire against the planes. But no mercy was shown for the women and children. The first plane would drop large 'lightbombs' on parachutes to change the dark night into daylight, and the following bombers could then see their targets.
Each time we left for the hill, we carried a few belongings and parcels with us, and helped one another. My husband always arranged to come over when the alarm sounded, and some comrades of his helped us carry ports, so that we seldom had to leave much behind. The days and weeks passed, filled with fear, hunger and worry. My husband used to bring the small ration he got from the army over in the evenings, and that, together with my own supplies (if any) we shared and enjoyed. What a delight it was when he could organise a little pot full of malt coffee grounds from the army kitchen. We would warm it up and mix it with a bit of sugar or usually saccharine. Or, on duty out of town, he might find some old cabbage stalks, from which he picked some yellow leaves. These cooked in water with salt and perhaps some flour, was a special treat for us. Guido was still in hospital, but at last he had been brought back to life; and he could now take rice water and carrot juice and keep it down. How happy I was, when told that I could take him home the next day. In the meantime, I had managed to get a little bed for him and some clothing - rare things - my own had been lost - and now everything was in readiness for the little boy's homecoming. That evening we had to go for shelter again, but the bombs were dropped outside of town in the valleys.
The following afternoon, I went to the hospital, which was on the other side of town, and was very happy to have Guido back in my arms. I hurried back, for my husband was to come home earlier that evening to celebrate with us. But long before I reached home, about 1/4 to 6, the sirens started the alarm, and all the people were frightened. Some days earlier at the same time of day, the big city of Dresden [8] was completely destroyed with about 500,000 dead and missing. We had witnessed this inferno from our hill that night. Because Dresden had been packed with refugees that day (they were given shelter in schools, museums, halls and private houses) there were too many people in town. So when the firebombs came, the people ran out into the streets, panic-stricken and not knowing where to go for shelter. It was then that the next squadrons of planes arrived over the metropolitan area and plastered the burning town with bombs. It was horrible - not one building or house was left.
Having this in mind, I ran as fast as I could, and as I arrived, my husband and his comrades were ready to leave with the ports in their hands. So we hurried uphill for shelter among the trees. The planes arrived quickly this time, and we realised that our small town was the target this time. On reaching the first trees, we had to throw ourselves down. The ground and air were shaking and we could feel every single explosion. The bombers came very low - we could even see the crews - and we watched the hatches open to deliver each bomb. Mostly the planes came in lower than us, to go right through the valley. It was a dreadful experience. Whenever the bombers passed so low over us, I buried my baby under me. It was a long raid, and hour after hour went by as new planes kept on coming. Only when they were satisfied that their job was completely finished did the last planes turn homeward. The whole town had been destroyed, and was a burning, smouldering mass. No streets were to be found, fire everywhere, huge craters, heaps of rubble and burst mainlines. The house were my room had been was also destroyed, and with it many things we could not carry to safety. Many people had not managed to get out in time, and there were many, many casualties. Crying women were looking for their children, or standing in front of a rubble heap which had once been their house, trying in vain to salvage things. The Hospital where Guido had been only hours before, was totally destroyed; so was the General Hospital with all the sick and the medical staff. There was now no railway station in existence. The army camp had also been destroyed, and my husband got orders to be ready for transport to active service.
Next morning, as I went looking for food, after a sleepless night, I met a colleague from my old department, and she offered me a room in her school [9] up in the mountains, some 30 miles away. As my husband was leaving that day, we parted once again, and I left for my new destination. Here in the mountains, it was very quiet and the food was sufficient for Guido to make a quick recovery from his illness. We were isolated here, and for the time being, safe; but the general situation was to become hopeless. From the East, the Russians came nearer and nearer in a big flood, and behind us, the western allies had reached the Elbe River, in Thuringia and Bavaria. Would they get here in time to stop the Russians? German fighting was now concentrated on stopping the Russians; and the general opinion was that the western powers would stop the Russians, and so save central Europe from the red flood. But that seemed like a dream. Surely my husband was not too far away as the action was close; and when we had parted he had assured me that whenever he got out of this mess, he would find me.
So one day, towards the end of April 1945 at 7am, the phone rang (it was still working here) and I got a message from the milk depot uphill, that my husband had just passed there and asked them to ring the school to tell me that he was on the way down the road. So I grabbed Guido, put him quickly into the pram and went out on the road to meet him. The milk depot was 3 miles uphill, and we met halfway with great joy. But my husband looked terrible - his head was bandaged all over for a wound, and his uniform was tattered and dirty. He and his unit had been enclosed by the Russians for some weeks, but with many losses they had managed to fight their way out of this tight ring. It had been on the 20th April that a mortar shell hit his helmet and a big piece of metal had penetrated his steel helmet and been embedded in the flesh of his forehead. There was no medical help on hand, so he had to continue fighting his way out of the ring of Russians with an infected head. Later he found a doctor, or rather a medical officer, who had no equipment save a pair of scissors and some bandages. He snipped the piece of metal out, bandaged the head, and advised my husband to find a hospital quickly. As my husband did not want to fall into Russian hands by entering Berlin, where all military organisation had broken down, he decided to find his way to me. Everywhere all was chaos. He had to avoid partisans and American fighter planes as he walked up the mountains from the Czechoslovakian side, but finally he had reached this road, and we were together again.
He had his first decent meal and bath for a long time, and then the reaction set in. He became very ill. I took his papers to the local military commander, who sent a doctor with me to treat my husband in my room. He had a high fever - the result of a neglected injury.
As the days passed, the Russians moved up in front of us, and the Americans behind. Heavy artillery was barking on both sides; the grenades sang high over us, and we found that now the Russian and American artillery were duelling each other. As the official capitulation was announced, Sodom and Gomorrah started in earnest. It became clear that the western forces would not proceed any further, but that the Russians would be going further west to meet them. Our district was to be under Russian control. Again we packed our few belongings, and left the things we could not carry in a few bags with a lady who promised to look after them for us. So we left this quiet place, each carrying a rucksack, a heavy port between us, and Guido in the pram, where we kept some food reserves also. We did not have much money, as our savings were in the bank on the Russian side. Public services had ceased to be in existence, so too had the banks. We did not make much progress the first day, as my husband was still ill, and the heavy port was too much for him to carry. A kind lady gave us an extra pram, and so our rucksacks got a ride. We left the port, in which were our few valuables, reluctantly with an old chap who was caretaker of a small factory we passed.
Now the big journey to Cologne began, a journey of nearly 450 miles, which would take us right through Germany. The road was blocked everywhere by destroyed army trucks, overturned wagons and big bombholes. Many, many people were also trying to get home. After the first day we came to a stop at the American demarcation line; nobody was allowed to cross. We camped for the first night in an old hayshed. Thousands of people camped in the open: there were remainders of German army units also, with many wounded men among them, waiting to be allowed to capitulate to the western allies and not be caught by the Russians. It was a pity to see them, with nothing to eat, while the American soldiers had their meals served in full view of the starving people, many of whom had not had a decent meal in weeks. In their agony they chewed weeds and pine twigs. Several times the Americans were asked to allow at least women and children into safety, but in vain. The second day went on, and we were very lucky that the Russians were so slow in coming. Near us was a group of boys camped, waiting to be allowed on to make their way back to Cologne. They had been evacuated in classes into Saxony to evade the bombing of Cologne. In the turmoil of the capitulation days they lost the teachers and classmates and were now alone in search of their parents. We decided to take care of them - all 14 of them - and try to find our way back together. They had nothing to eat, no clothes besides what they were wearing, plus a few belongings in a rucksack or parcel. My husband took them into the bush to collect tips of the stinging nettle, which is a healthy vegetable in springtime when quite young. From another group I borrowed a big pot and as soon as a fire was going, we boiled the nettles with a bit of salt and water.
Next morning we decided we could not wait here any longer, and that we would try to cross the line some miles further south. We traversed a deep forest till we found a place, where a few Americans were busy catching fish in a small running creek. They were shooting the fish with pistols. My husband went and talked with the American captain, but he found that the Americans had been ordered not to let anyone cross. We were the only people present, so in the end, after my husband kept talking with the captain, he ordered his men to concentrate on the fish and not to watch. He gave us a sign and then turned around himself as we ran quickly over the road into the American sector. We were now out of the grip of the Russians. But in the American sector there was a curfew on. All main roads were closed to all but allied military vehicles - for civilians these roads were strictly taboo. So we stayed in the mountains, walking only between 6am and 6pm. Travelling through the forest in hilly country from one village to another on small tracks or bad roads, we hardly saw any Americans for the first two weeks, as they never bothered to come to isolated areas. The boys travelled on carrying only their parcels, and we continued with our prams. We passed through undisturbed villages and found food and shelter for the nights. The farmers would look in their attics and bring out old prams - really old-timers - for the boys. So it was not long before we were all 'motorised'. Whenever we came upon a little creek or spring, our washing would be done. Although we were under such strain all the time we walked, we were quite happy inside, and enjoyed the lovely things nature had to offer. In this journey we saw many districts that we would never have seen normally. Valleys tucked away in the hills, towering trees, wild flowers and bushes, birds singing in the trees: fascinating scenes one could only dream about.
Trouble started though - not only did our feet become very sore, but the pram wheels were suffering also. We had axle trouble and the spokes worked loose, so every day we had to spend quite a while on repairs. The prams were just not built for an overland drive like that. Sometimes we slept among straw, sometimes in beds. I could go on indefinitely just telling you about the happenings on this trip. But still in the back of our minds was the question: "Are our parents still alive or not?", and very now and then our minds recalled that demarcation line, which we had been enabled to cross, but what of the thousands who could not?
On and on we walked - up hill and down dale till we were in the middle of Thuringia. Our 'little trucks'; and our feet were just worn out, but we kept on marching mechanically. One day we decided to descend to a small town in the valley below us. Up till now we had always avoided the bigger settlements. The main road passed through this town, and we were now anxious to find out how the general situation was, as we had lived almost like outlaws during the last few weeks. We all found shelter that night. The highways were still closed; so my husband arranged an interview with the military commander, and the nice gentleman gave us a permit to use from now on, to use the main roads and thus get home more quickly with the boys. This happened near Eisenach and as we had to give our attention to repairs to the prams we did not bother to read the permit - besides we were overcome with the excitement of being allowed on the roads again. Next morning we set off again at 6am and passed Wartheburg a few hours later. We walked quickly now, as we had reached the main highway leading west, and in that day we covered more miles than usual. We never had any long holdups now, as we always found someone who would repair our prams. The roads were used by the occupation forces, so we had to keep very strictly on the one side of the road. We were quite a procession: in front, I wheeled Guido in the pram and behind me came the boys with a pram between each pair, and my husband was the tail-light to the procession, pushing his luggage-truck. We could have been called a convoy in military language. Later that day, we came to a military post with a checkpoint on the border of Thuringia and Hesse. The soldiers here were Negroes. My husband came to the head of our convoy to show them the permit. The black sergeant looked first at the paper, then at me, then along the row of boys, and finally at my husband; his white eyes opened wider and wider and he counted 1, 2, 3, 4 and so on till 14, and suddenly he cried out in amazement: "All yours??". I did not realise what was behind it all, so I just nodded my head. It was too much for him, so he moaned "God help me" and let us pass. He went over to his soldiers and they all lined up as we went through, rolling their eyes and staring at me. We did not know what it was all about, and were glad to have them behind us, as they were still in a kind of uproar, looking after us and discussing us loudly, till we lost sight of them. 'There must be something special about our permit', we thought, 'to give them such respect for us'. So we had a good look at our permit and there it was: free passage to Cologne on all main roads for Mr and Mrs Kettniss, baby and 14 children.
From then on we experienced the same amusement every time we passed a military post manned by Negroes; and we increased the fun by grouping the boys into twins, triplets and quadruplets, and they all believed it. As we came nearer to Cologne and the Rhineland, the districts were evidently hard hit by the war; and food was harder to get as most of the people had nothing for themselves. In these areas, with their signs of bombing or fighting, we had a tough time in comparison with our trek through the hills of Thuringia. We slept anywhere, so long as we were off the streets during the night. Sometimes the boys camped in open drainpipes, for they could find no better places. Some 20 miles from Cologne, we knocked on the door of old friends and were soon sitting down having a good talk. However, we found we could not get up from the chairs, as we had covered the longest stretch so far that day, and our muscles had gone on strike. Here we had our first bath, and we stayed an extra day to recover, with our friends caring for us, and talking about all their experiences.
The following day we left our friends and soon the road led us up the last hill before Cologne: there was our old hometown far below us. In the afternoon, we reached the city boundary and here we said goodbye to the boys, as they headed to the suburbs close by. We didn't hear from them again. As we continued, all we saw were heaps of rubble. The metropolis had been destroyed. We could still see the cathedral reaching up to the sky, but this fine building had also been hit by "block-buster" bombs - other church towers could be seen here and there, but they also were in ruins. All that had not been destroyed by bombs, was burnt out. What a sight it was! Where there had been streets or avenues, all we could find were small paths. All bridges had gone from the river, and there was only a temporary timber structure, built by the Americans, and open for two hours only each way. We had to pass a control point and they blew DDT powder down our necks and under our clothes with a blower gun. When we crossed the river, the actual city looked dreadful - nothing was left. It took us a long time to reach the house of my parents-in-law through the narrow paths. The house was burnt out to the first floor, and the rest was badly affected by the bomb blasts - no roof, no windows and no doors left.
Now began the task of adjusting ourselves to life amid the ruins. There was no light or gas, no coal for heating, and the only food we got was rationed or sold on the black market. But we managed to get through the following years. This has been a picture of a small episode out of my life. I have told it to you as I experienced it.
However, now that we have been in Queensland since 1951 [10], we are happy to be here, and can settle in peace.
| [1] | Anna Kettniss née Zissner was born on the 12th June 1921 at Obermenjig. |
| [2] | Hugo Karl Kettniss was born on the 22nd November 1916. |
| [3] | He was an Unteroffizir in the Wehrmacht which is more or less equivalent to a Corporal. |
| [4] | The village was Hammerstein in the Kreis Wollstein. |
| [5] | Wollstein was the chief town and administrative center of the Kreis or County of the same name in West Prussia. |
| [6] | Robert Koch was a German physcian, who established the science of bacteriology by developing its basic investigative techniques, and investigating the major bacteria-caused diseases of his day. He was born in Klausthal in Hanover in 1843, and studied medicine at Göttingen, before practising as a physician. In 1876 he isolated the bacillus causing Anthrax and created a vaccine to prevent it in cattle. Two years later he published his great thesis on the cause of infections due to injury. In 1882 he isolated the bacillus causing Tuberculosis, for which he was awarded the 1905 Nobel prize for physiology and medicine. Three years later he was appointed a professor of the University of Berlin, and in 1891 founded the Institute for Infectious Diseases in Berlin of which he was the director. He also isolated the bacillus causing Asiatic Cholera, and studied sleeping sickness and bubonic plague. He died in Berlin in 1910. |
| [7] | TB is the lung disease of tuberculous. It has also been called consumption and phthisis. |
| [8] | Shortly after 10pm on the night of the 13th February 1945, a British armada of 243 Lancaster bombers arrived over the city of Dresden, capital of Saxony. In 25 minutes they unloaded 1477 tons of explosives. Three hours later another 529 Lancasters came armed with fire-bombs. There was almost no anti-aircraft fire, and the sky was without cloud. This second raid caused a series of raging infernos, whose glare was seen even from Erfurt over 200 kilometers away. A gigantic whirlwind was created by the thousands of fires. As the flames consumed great doses of oxygen, air from the outside rushed in with the force of a hurricane, spreading the fire and suffocating thousands. People were incinerated to ashes in moments even in the cellars where they took refuge. Over 135,000 died that night in the highest civilian death-toll of any single operation of any war to that time. The German authorities inflated that figure for propaganda purposes to 250,000, saying that the larger numbers were due to the city being full of refugees on the night of those raids. These raids were known as Operation Thunderclap to British Bomber Command under Sir Arthur (Bomber) Harris. He was the fiercest advocate of this tactic of "area bombing", which deliberately targetted civilians to break their morale and create refugees in order to impede their war effort. |
| [9] | This was the primary school at Annaberg in the Erzgebirge Ranges. |
| [10] | The family arrived in Brisbane Australia in May 1951. |
Hugo and Anna Kettniss made a successful life for themselves and their family in the Northern Rivers District of New South Wales. He died and Anna remarried to Noel Gluch, and, last I heard, is living in Gympie, a town north of Brisbane, capital of the state of Queensland. Guido was converted and became a Christian minister serving at St Paul's Presbyterian Church in Townsville in tropical North Queensland and subsequently at Hamilton Presbyterian Church in Brisbane. Together with the Nundah Presbyterian Church this today forms a joint charge called the Gateway Presbyterian Church. He married Virginia and they have four daughters - Vikki, Julie, Kathy and Wendy. Vikki is a librarian married to Paul Kay, and lives in Rockhampton in Queensland. Julie is a missionary married to Jimmie Mbasa, and lives in Windhoek in Namibia. Kathy married Luke Rytenskild, and lives in Nerang on the Gold Coast in Queensland. Wendy is a secondary teacher, and lives near her parents in Brisbane.
Saxon Genealogy
Copyright: ©1999-2005 Jon Kehrer, Canberra © 1956 Anna Kettniss, Brisbane