Growing up in the War Zone
Near the end of the 2nd World War, we lived in
western Hungary where the fighting between the red army
and German soldiers was from house to house. While the
front moved back and forth, we were hiding in an
underground bunker. When Germans were in control of our
village, a couple of the soldiers came into our house to warm
up in the evening. I was 6 years old and remember sitting on
the knee of one of the soldiers called Hans while he was
singing for me in German a song that he really wanted to
sing for his son who was the same age as I. Hans spoke a
little bit of Hungarian and was telling my parents that he was
away from his family for a long time and was hoping to see
his son and wife soon. But, after one of the door to door
fighting between German and Russian soldiers, when we
came up from the bunker and as we walked by our house, I
saw Hans lying there not moving and covered with blood.
Grandfather said with anger: “damn Hitler, damn Stalin,
damn the war”.
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