Last Stork Summer Read Online Free PDF Page B

others would provide slave labor to support Germany in its efforts to dominate the world. Our land was given to support Hitler’s ideal of a pure Aryan race.
    Our camp was officially called the Polish Youth Detainment Camp. It housed children for various reasons. Not all of us in this camp failed the physical examinations. Some children were here because they were caught stealing food, a necessary survival skill as the war dragged on. Others had been displaced because of the war, or convicted of some minor infraction. Still others had unwillingly been given to the Germans because their parents hoped they would qualify for Germanization, and this designation would save their child’s life. How fitting that the one thingthat sustained me, my memory, was the one thing Hitler insisted his Germanized children lose.
    We ranged in age from five to sixteen, but most of us looked younger. We were so small from never having enough to eat. In fact, our days were divided up by the meal times. We existed on two meals a day of watery soup and sometimes, if we were lucky, stale bread. Occasionally, if we were out working on a farm, we would steal anything we could to fill our shriveled stomachs; grass, raw vegetables, even grain that was supposed to be for the animals. It didn’t matter to us as long as we had something to put in our stomachs. All of our waking thoughts seemed to be about food, but our constant fear was getting caught, which meant a severe beating or even death for stealing needed food. We were constantly reminded how fortunate we were to receive two meals a day! The soldiers told us that other camps gave one meal a day and sometimes nothing. Although this desolate place didn’t remotely resemble home, I knew it had to be better than one of the concentration camps. In my mind though, it was difficult to distinguish between them. Prison was prison. Different degrees of difficulty existed in each, but all were formed for the same purpose to achieve Hitler’s goal of world domination, and enslave anyone he viewed as standing in the way of his objectives.
    Like Basil used to be, hunger became my constant companion. My family and Basil were daily in my thoughts.
Were they alive? Were they ok? Where were they and would we ever see each other again?
    When I was assigned to work on a farm out in the countryside I became very homesick. I thought about our farm; like the River Warta in the spring overflowing her banks, my mind flooded with questions. I wondered about the people using our farm to produce food and animals for Germany. I couldn’t bear the thought of our farm supporting Hitler, nor of a German family using our home, supporting his Aryan ideals and programs fordeveloping his “Master Race”.
    I feared my parents and grandparents had been taken to a labor camp. Anyone who appeared healthy could be deported at any time. I tried not to visualize how they were managing, especially if they were separated. I knew that elderly people, as well as the very young and infirm, were usually viewed as useless. I knew my grandparents were strong and capable of working long hours. Perhaps the soldiers would consider their usefulness as well as their age.
    Concern for our loyal, hardworking German Shepherds came often to my mind. We had trained them to herd sheep. We cared for them lovingly. Were they now performing sentry duty and living in kennels? The thought of them being mistreated or handled roughly by soldiers made me feel down. I was sure the Germans treated the dogs better than the children who slaved for them, though. I did not believe anyone could be more mistreated than us. One of the older girls, however, insisted that we weren’t treated as badly as the Jews. As we were barely surviving, I wondered how anyone could survive harsher conditions. The thought of harsher treatment sent chills down my spine. I couldn’t entertain such a thought; I’d survived this long, and I wanted to see the end of the war. I wanted to