To Value a Crust of Bread

It's a week late but this is my 11/11 rememberance post. I hope the world never forgets the attoricites of World War One and Two, and all war in fact.

My 3rd set of grandparents, so to speak, were Dutch (Oma and Opa we called them, as did their own grandchildren) and I am currently staying with their daughter, my Aunty Wilma and her husband Don in Canada. Oma, Opa and their children Wilma and Hans (my actual Uncle, married to my Dad's sister) lived in Rotterdam, The Nertherlands, until July 1960 when they immigrated to Canada.

Below is a story (in poetic form) which I will say is "based on a true story" but isn't a true retelling of events. Opa spoke very little of their experiences in World War II, Oma said nothing at all. He did tell me some stories when I saw them in 1997 and Wilma has expanded on those while I've been here.

When my Oma had gone to a nursing home and Opa was living on his own Aunty Wilma went to see him once and found an old crust of bread that he was keeping. She told him to throw it out and he said he may want it, which she scoffed at. Opa had never told her much of his experiences in the war, but he then told her about the crust of bread he wanted to pick up that a German soldier crushed into the dirt under his shoe.

"If you'd experienced what I have you would value a crust of bread differently." he said, but I paraphrase.

Between 1940-45 he experienced forced separation, twice in fact, from his wife and family (they had their son Hans the second time), who almost starved to death (as did he), slave labour, imprisonment for stealing food and all the gastly experiences that come with this and Nazi control. When his labour camp was liberated by the USA he was set free, around 300 miles from home without a penny, no food and no shoes.


To Value a Crust of Bread

My life was on a wire
Surviving only by desire
300 miles ahead of walking under fire
Free to go at last but so very far from home
With no shoes and not a penny
But there were many pairs to be found
On the dead bodies of soldiers littering the ground

I tried not to let my hopes get high
That my wife and baby son could still be alive
I'd heard some stories of people dying
(The dead were stacked in piles)
For lack of even one crust to share
So I stare intently ahead at the path I slowly tread
With a knowledge deep down in my heart that they weren't dead

Yet I had no food myself
So when I saw a crust of bread
Lying straight ahead in the dirt
I ran, though all my body hurt
But as I got close
A nearby Nazi soldier noticed and knew
Why I was running
And he callously crushed the crust under his shoe
I tried to hide my anguish and casually walked away
But the soldier called me over
And I knew that despite the all-but-official defeat I must obey
If I wanted to live another day

So I went towards him slow but steady
Seeming harmless but staying ready
And as I look him squarely in the eye
The face of every soldier
That had beat me endless times
Over the previous years of forced work
Cell bars and secret sabotage
Were running through my mind and I knew that though I'd try
It was an image I would never leave behind

He ordered me closer still
His eyes not hiding his desire to kill
But he wanted more than just to see me die
With his rifle butt he clubbed me hard
Then jumped on me as I tried to guard
My face from the punches wasted on a man so weak and tired
I could hear many planes flying
Over but he paid them no mind
Which still surprised me despite
The frequency that they were heard round this time

I was almost ready to give up this life
Knowing it could well mean I reunite with my wife
In a better place than this...when an explosion hit!
It destroyed the train close by
And in a moment that hate-filled soldier died
Right on top of me, convulsing with a repulsive sound
Coming from his mouth, as deadly shrapnel flew around

As the dust cleared I pushed him off
Now just a pin cushion for wood, metal and rock
He'd inadvertently given his life for mine
Which held for me an irony that someone so unkind
Ended up being the only reason I lived
To continue walking all the way to my country, wife and kid
And live for many happy years I did

Although with memories such as these
Which I'd never wish on you
But it wouldn't hurt for many I see to value
A crust of bread like myself and so many others like me do

~

I'd like to make an important point. In the true story the soldier actually threw himself on my Opa to save his life. But in this case, when I wanted to focus on the crust situation, which was a separate story, it didn't serve my literary purpose to use that angle. Just so you know. Writers have to take poetic licence sometimes. I'm sure there were many good German soldiers in WWI & II, although with abhorrent leadership. Nonetheless, I realise I'm perpetuating a stereotype, so I wanted to make this point.