The day of departure was set for April 4. I had phoned my mother to tell her where and when we would take off for Africa. 1,500 men were packed like sardines into the train which waited at the S. Then she had seen the dead and wounded soldiers come back in the cold railroad cars.

"Oh, Mother, war is different now. I'm sure I'll be back."

Slowly the destiny of the moment began to sink in. Maybe this was the last time we would see each other. A warm feeling came over me. All the love with which she had engulfed me seemed to radiate back to her as she reached for my hand. The stationmaster had given the signal to the engineer to start the train. As the train began to roll, we all started to sing "Good-bye my Beloved Fatherland." My mother held my hand tighter, pulled her handkerchief from her purse and started walking with the slowly moving train, still holding my hand as if she refused to turn me over to my fatherland. With tears streaming down her face she tried to keep up with the faster and faster moving train, but finally she had to let my hand go. She stood there, waving her handkerchief. She grew smaller and smaller until I could see only the white handkerchief waving up and down. I wished I could have done more for her in all those years, would have let her know how much I loved her. But no, in our family one did not express love so openly. It was there for us to see in all the deeds and caring for each other, but it was not shown openly.

When I finally returned after five years, I found out that she was killed two weeks before the end of the war. American bombs had torn her apart during a bombing attack on Berlin. She had tried, as she always did, to put out the fires of the incendiary bombs as they fell through the roof into the attic. This time the planes were carrying 1,.000-pound TNT bombs. Only her fur cape was found.

The train was our home for three long days. The landscape was all spring like. The trees had started sprouting. The wheat and barley fields were luscious with a light green as we rolled through to Munich.

When would I see you again, Irmgard?. The stop during the night was so short that there was no chance to telephone her. Africa seemed too far away. I did not know which route the train would take to Italy. A few hours later the train made its way to Innsbruck. The short stop gave me a chance to see the Stubai Valley again. Then the train worked its way to the Brenner Pass. Two hours later I could see the Dolomites in the distance, this time without snow. The train rolled further south into Italy. During a short stop in Trento the population recognized that we were German soldiers on our way to Africa. They gave us oranges and juices and waved frantically as the train set itself again in motion. They had all read the bad news about Africa in the press: that the Italians had been driven back over 1,000 miles by the British and had suffered substantial losses with many soldiers captured. The train, as it progressed down the Italian boot, stopped only at small villages, passing through the bigger cities. I had my accordion with me on the train. The long ride brought us into a mood for singing. When we passed through a small town, out came the accordion and loud German songs filled the city streets as the train passed through. At some stops they loaded us down with oranges and fruit juice. During a short stop in Rome I even got a postcard off to Irmgard. The final destination was Naples, where we were scheduled to embark on a boat for Tripoli. The few German soldiers already in Africa had started a limited offensive. For the first time, the name of General Rommel was mentioned. The English had started to retreat as we could read in the Italian press. One month earlier the Italians were still prepared to give up Libya all together.

Dear Irmgard,

In front of me is Naples with its strong Mediterranean colors. A slight haze rests over the city. When I look to the west, I can see the sea with its faint outline of Capri in a distance. We are located in a small suburb on the outskirts of Naples. I'm trying to get my energy back. I feel kind of beat and want just to lie around. Trying to take in this beautiful landscape with 1500 soldiers around is not an ideal situation. How beautiful this could be if only the two of us could admire Naples with Vesuvius and the Mediterranean in the background. One week ago we were still in Berlin with its cold weather, not a trace of spring yet, and now we see palm trees, pinions and cypresses with a multitude of flowers in all colors of the late spring. There has been no transition.......

My dearest Irmgard,

If you could close your eyes and open them as you sit next to me, you would be amazed as you watch the beauty of this multicolored landscape. Just across the street one hears the "tripp-trapp" of the donkeys pulling the small carts and the "claquety-claque" of the horse-drawn lorries. All sounds are accentuated by the roll of the distant waves, pushed along by the cool gentle wind as they reach the beach. Once in a while a frothy crest is visible. To the right and left palm trees and pinions bend with the rhythm of the wind. This is the Naples as I had it pictured in my fantasy. A peninsula decorated with an old, partially destroyed castle, white sailboats on the ocean complete the color symphony. When you look a little to the left you will see the beautiful houses of the rich Neapolitans, each in a different color. On the top of the gentle hill looms an ancient fort, similar to the Roman Coliseum, framed by Vesuvius and its permanent crater-cloud. I hope you don't shoot me when I say: I would rather be here as an enemy than as a visitor. Italians don't deserve these beautiful surroundings when one realizes that Mussolini thinks this is total war. Now we will have to pull him out of the mess. I had better keep my mouth shut. Yesterday the non-commissioned officers invited me on a trip to Sorrento. They wanted me to play my accordion for entertainment on their truck. As we drove through the vineyards, the orange and lemon orchards, the many picturesque communities, each on a bluff with a castle above, I thought of you. I hope to take you through this country blessed with beauty after the war is over. Italy can only be enjoyed when one has fantasy and can rave and dream about it.

Last week we were supposed to embark on a troop transporter, but after one day we went back to our old quarters. The rumor went around that the ship before us, loaded with tanks and ammunition, ended at the bottom of the sea hit by an English torpedo. Mussolini refuses to risk his warships to give protection to the transport ships to Tripoli. English Malta with its planes as well as English submarines seemed to frighten him. What awaits us in Africa nobody knows. At least on Easter we were back in Naples.

German soldiers are respected here. We do not have to pay in the streetcars or on local trains. Shopping is another story. The merchants at least double the prices when a German soldier walks into the store. To learn bargaining is essential for us. I threaten them sometimes with the "Polizia" until they lower the price to what the locals are paying. We appreciate the German way of merchandising more and more. After 20 years of Fascism this country is still a mess. Bread and butter are the most expensive items. Everywhere one can see thousands of street vendors, shoe shiners and beggars. The rich get richer and the poor get poorer. The joke gets around that Benito, when the German Army had to help him in his Albanian campaign, sent an ultimatum to the Greeks: "If you do not capitulate within three, days I'll get the Germans."

Nowhere can one see any war efforts. I wish Mussolini had never entered the war. It took only one German division to hold the Italians at bay for four years during World War I.

The sun is setting. The cold wind blows through our thin clothes. More beautiful than ever are the rays of the sun reflected over the ocean as the evening approaches, and Naples is covered with a reddish-pink glow. Naples, you will see me again one day!

One week later we were still in Naples. Maybe the congestion of troops and material, on its way to the black continent, was such that they had forgotten us. We had to exercise and do all kinds of tasks so we would not get bored. On a free Sunday three of us took the train north along the coast. The half-hour ride took us along small villages high on the cliffs to a small beach. We had our swimming trunks and blankets along and found a way down the cliffs to the ocean. Not a soul could be seen in this secret place. Twenty miles away in the haze one could make out the island of Ischia. The swim was refreshing and cool. The bread, cheese and wine made a perfect lunch. A streetcar ride took us back to Bagnolia, our quarters outside the city.

My beloved Irmgard,

After a hard day we had to pack our belongings for the eighth time, just to have the embarkation order again canceled. I went to the finest restaurant in Bagnolia and had eggs, sunny side up, and an omelet with jam. Today was payday and I tried to get rid of my lire. The rate is three lire to a mark. It looks as if we will be here for a long time. Well, if they cancel our trip again, I'll have to do without money nine more days. Since I do not smoke, I can always barter my ration of German cigarettes. One cannot go a single step without being bothered by street vendors or begging children. I guess they are preparing us for Africa where the bartering and begging is much worse, so I hear. In the poor district of Naples the streets are only 10 to 12 feet wide. They are full of garbage and dirt and are very smelly. Clotheslines are strung across the streets with wet garments dripping onto the pavement below. The street vendors often bargain with women, who lean out of the window and shout to the vendor that the price is too high. When they settle, the woman lets a basket with money on a long rope down to the street and picks up her merchandise. A worker here makes thirty lire a week. Those poor devils! We feel good if we bargain the price down to half, but know that we are still paying too much. When Italian soldiers see us in the street, they are super-friendly and want to invite us to a glass of red wine. They make only one lire a day. We always pay the bill. They told us in Italian that they had seen several German trains loaded with tanks going south. No wonder they felt so good. We fight their war and they applaud. Large billboards with "Vinceremo" can be seen all over town. The headlines in the newspaper say in large letters: "The Tricolor over Lublianca." or "Our troops took six prisoners" or "Saloniki is occupied by Axis forces." The war is very unpopular here and consequently the effort is minimal.

Italy is so very beautiful, I have to pardon them for not wanting to fight. I can understand that they would rather look at their bright colors, their blue ocean, sing opera songs and enjoy life.

Several German soldiers were detailed yesterday to our unit. Their ship was sunk by a British torpedo. They were three to five hours in the water before they were sighted and picked up. They are lucky to be alive. They are looking forward to another trip by boat with trepidation.

We just received orders again to embark by tomorrow. We have to pack our heavy gear for the ninth time. I hope it will be without incident....?

Dear Irmgard,

I am writing to you from the first-class dining room of a luxury liner. Sacks full of straw give a grotesque contrast to the mirrors and chandeliers above us. The engines are humming, but all the ropes are still tied to the docks in the harbor of Naples. It is afternoon and Naples offers an unforgettable farewell with its colors and picturesque silhouettes. In a few hours Europe will be left behind us, provided the English navy will not interfere with our departure. No Italian Navy ship will accompany us. Let me give you a kiss for the last time from the old continent. I will seal the letter. The mail has to go ashore...Good-bye, old Europe

Dear Irmgard,

The departure is temporarily postponed. Maybe the British have some spies in Naples who let them know when a ship leaves the harbor?

I am sitting on the edge of an empty swimming pool. To an adventurer, a forced swim in the Mediterranean does not sound so terribly bad. We are among many soldiers who had to abandon their ship south of Sicily. Last Sunday I took a swim in water that was 68 degrees. So, the danger of hypothermia is negligible. The soldiers on the ship were from all kinds of army branches. Intelligence is only sparsely represented. I figure out that we will be distributed to units from the whole Africa Corps to replace the dead and wounded. I hope they will not keep us too long behind the front line so we can help Rommel regain Libya. Your letters from the ski trips and sailing will sound only like a dreamlike song, unreachable and so far away that I probably will not even become envious.

The increasing heat is welcome only up to a certain temperature. If it rises beyond that, it paralyzes mind and body. It is now becoming increasingly hot and humid......

Dear Irmgard,

Slowly, too slowly, we are approaching the black continent. Five days on the luxury liner, five days with the engines ready to go, and again we had to go back on land and take the train. The trip was indescribably magnificent. Always along the coast. First Sorrento, than Salerno. In the far distance the volcanic island of Stromboli with its smoke, indicating that there are several active volcanoes in Italy. And then far away on the horizon the snow-covered top of Mount Etna reaching high into the sky became visible. Now for the first time we could use our equipment. One thousand olive-colored one-man tents are spread on the beach of Reggio. The Strait of Messina is right in front of us with the 10,000 foot Etna dominating Sicily. To the right and left of us are orange and lemon groves in full bloom. They send a sweet fragrance over to the beach. A light surf is music to our ears and the sun burns hotter and hotter. For the first time we get permission to wear our shorts. What a relief. A cool ocean breeze helps us sleep. Hi, this is vacation time!! I am not mad about the delay any more. I read in the paper that our first ship was sunk by a British battleship and cruiser. Under the most favorable conditions we would have had a good swim in the ocean. The Tommy has so far attacked one Italian convoy by ship and plane and caused heavy losses of men and material. The Good Lord put his little finger in between fate and us. That is the story of our vacation travel to the "Big Toe of Italy." Tomorrow we will go by boat to Messina and from there by train to Catania. Africa comes closer.