My experience of the 2nd World War, at age 3:<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Big Boom<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Denmark was occupied by Germany for 5 years during the Second World War.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The Scene:<\/strong><\/p>\n March 21st<\/sup>, 1945, 11:16 a.m., Copenhagen. (For Denmark, the occupation will end 1\u00bd months later.)<\/p>\n British bombers \u2013 18 of them \u2013 were to destroy Gestapo Headquarters in Copenhagen.<\/p>\n 35 Danish prisoners were held on the top floor of the building, probably as an \u201cinsurance policy\u201d against bombing attacks.<\/p>\n En-route to Gestapo Headquarters, one of the first bombers falls into an air pocket, hits a radio tower and goes down.<\/p>\n The pilot in the following plane sees the smoke, thinks this is his target \u2013 and drops his bombs \u2014 ON MY SCHOOL !<\/p>\n I am 3 years old, very young for my class and very small for my age.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n My Story (Monologue):<\/strong><\/p>\n I sit at the stone table in the basement of my school, my new red lunch box in front of me. White cursive letters scrawled diagonally across the top.\u00a0 A word.\u00a0 My small fingers gently outline the strange, raised letters.<\/p>\n Shyly I look to my left.\u00a0 A little girl, scarcely a year older than me, looks back.\u00a0 She has long blond curls.\u00a0 My friend.\u00a0 She nods approval at my lunch box.\u00a0 My heart leaps! Neither of us knows the art of reading \u2013 let alone that of reading cursive.\u00a0 However, we both know the message the letters reveal: \u201cBon Appetite\u201d.<\/p>\n My hands start to open the hinged lid to the treats my mother undoubtedly has hidden in the box.<\/p>\n !!! BOOM !!!<\/em><\/p>\n Loud noises.\u00a0 Voices screaming.\u00a0 Souls screaming. \u2014<\/p>\n Darkness.<\/p>\n Blinded, I walk towards the light.\u00a0 Stumbling over crumbled bricks.\u00a0 Searching.\u00a0 My hands outstretched before me.<\/p>\n Caring hands.\u00a0 Big, caring hands \u2013 reaching for mine.<\/p>\n My feet \u2013 walking in very cold water.\u00a0 It rises as I walk, now reaching the bottom of my skirt.<\/p>\n Strong hands pick me up \u2014 up, up, away from the icy water.<\/p>\n Sitting on someone\u2019s arm \u2013 safe \u2013 I burst into immediate, bubbling laughter.\u00a0 I lay my arms around his neck.\u00a0 Sigh.<\/p>\n Outside.<\/p>\n Bright light.<\/p>\n Chaos.<\/p>\n A mother \u2013 frantically searching in a pile of bricks.\u00a0 \u2013 I look away.\u00a0 She doesn\u2019t fit my image of a mother.<\/p>\n Fathers \u2013 standing in a row, passing a child from hand to hand, like you would a bucket of water at a fire.<\/p>\n Then \u2013 passing the next.<\/p>\n Some children lay listlessly \u2013 some scream.\u00a0 Some are but a pair of very big eyes.\u00a0 Eyes which saw what no eyes should see \u2026 their friend, pulled under by the sewage water \u2013 or lying under a rafter \u2013 still.<\/p>\n Gently, I\u2019m being set down by the curb of the street.<\/p>\n Different faces.\u00a0 Unknown faces.\u00a0 \u2013 All children.\u00a0 All much bigger than I.<\/p>\n As ambulances and taxis drive up to the curb, big hands \u2013 belonging to unknown, oddly clad men, are \u2013 it seems to me \u2013 \u201cstuffing\u201d the children into the cars.<\/p>\n For the first time in all this strangeness, do I feel scared!\u00a0 Real Scared!<\/p>\n An image pops into my head: What if these yellow men stuff ME into a car FIRST, then pile all of these BIG children on top of me?<\/p>\n My heart starts beating fast; my feet only want to run \u2026 my windpipe feels very restricted.\u00a0 \u2013 I SCREAM !<\/p>\n A girl \u2013 is she safe? \u00a0\u2013 picks me up.\u00a0 Her eyes as scared as mine, she holds me tight; carries me with her into the next cab.\u00a0 Sits me on her lap.<\/p>\n I collapse.\u00a0 My head and back throb with pain.\u00a0 I didn\u2019t notice it before.\u00a0 Now I cry \u2013 in the arms of a sweet young girl \u2013 who saved her own sanity by caring for me.<\/p>\n In the basement of a hospital someone tends to my head and back \u2013 gives me food, milk \u2013 shows me a toy box.\u00a0 I play with the toys, look at the other children.\u00a0 It seems as all the faces are but eyes.<\/p>\n I\u2019m given a cot and asked to sleep.\u00a0 I can\u2019t.<\/p>\n I wait.\u00a0 Then \u2013 wait some more.\u00a0 My waiting seems an eternity.<\/p>\n I get up, look at the toys again.\u00a0 There is a little blue wagon; its horses are brown.\u00a0 I pretend it is taking me home.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Someone walks up behind me.\u00a0 Gently touches my shoulder.<\/p>\n I turn around \u2013 quickly.<\/p>\n My Dad \u2013 tears streaming down his face \u2013 picks me up.\u00a0 Rocks me, loves me.<\/p>\n I\u2019m safe.\u00a0 \u2013 And for the first time I speak:<\/p>\n \u201cDad, did you hear the big boom?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes\u201d, he says, \u201cYes, I heard it\u201d.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Epilogue:<\/strong><\/p>\n Due to this fatal mistake, 109 people lost their lives.\u00a0 93 of these were children \u2013 nearly \u00bc of the children in the entire school.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Zitta Stubstad –\u00a0written on October 31st<\/sup>, 2004<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"