For the love of my enemy, p.28
For the Love of My Enemy, page 28
“He used the colored pencils. The ones I bought for him that day,”
“I’m sorry?” Mr. Lockwood replied.
“I had left a gift for Daniel, the day he was shipped out. It was a box of colored pencils. I left it with the private standing guard at the gate. The guard was angry with me then and I didn’t think he would give the gift to Daniel, but he did and—” Realizing she was rambling, she smiled, looking up at the director. “How did you get ahold of his journal, Mr. Lockwood?”
The director folded his arms, sitting back in his chair. “Actually, it was your name.”
Adina looked at him, confused. “My name?”
“Turn to the last pages,” he said.
She flipped to the last pages of the journal, and there, written in beautiful cursive, was her name. First, “Adina Luisa Robbins.” Then under that, “Adina, Adina, Adina,” over and over. Next page, “Adina Robbins, Windsor, California, USA.”
“I tried to send letters,” Adina said. “For two years after the war. I contacted the war department here in the United States, trying to get information on where he’d been sent. I was told that most likely he would go to England first, to help with the rebuild. I wrote to the British embassy, but they had no records of a Daniel Christensen. Nobody could help me. It was as though he had just disappeared.”
Mr. Lockwood placed his glasses back on his nose and looked over a document on his desk. “Well, he sort of did, as you said, Mrs. Ableman, disappear.”
“Please, call me Adina,” she said, her curiosity spiked to know the truth.
“You see, Adina, Daniel Christensen was shipped over to England after the war ended, just like many of the prisoners were. From there, we think he may have been sent to Germany. We can’t be sure. Back then there was such a push to simply get the prisoners out of the United States that many became lost in the process. Many ended up in—how should I say this—less than forgiving hands.” His eyes grew serious.
Adina’s heart sank. “There were Russians in Germany.”
Mr. Lockwood nodded. “The Russians were very much in control of Germany at that time. German soldiers returning home were not treated well, even the ones who had opposed the Nazis.” He paused, eyeing Adina with concern. “Let’s just say that the Geneva Convention didn’t mean much to the Russians.”
“Please, tell me what happened to him,” she said.
He took a deep breath and continued. “Several of the prisoners from Camp Windsor, including Daniel Christensen, were transported to a work camp—a gulag, if you will—just on the outskirts of Siberia. Once someone, whether a political prisoner or prisoner of war, ended up in one of these camps, they were never heard from again. It was unlikely that any would survive the camp. Most died from disease, the elements, or starvation.” Again, Mr. Lockwood paused, raising his eyebrows to look at Adina. When she didn’t say a word, he continued, “We know that Daniel was at this particular gulag because the journal you’re holding was found nailed shut behind one of the walls in a bunkhouse where the camp was. It was discovered as the old building was being torn down. From there, the journal was sent to one of the local government historical departments. It finally ended up in the hands of a German historic records firm. Then came the process of finding out who Adina Luisa Robbins actually was.”
“And how did you manage that?” she asked. “Which name did you use? Robbins, Rabinovitz, or Ableman?”
The director chuckled. “All three, actually. It wasn’t an easy task, but we finally found you. And here you are.”
She nodded her head. “Yes, Mr. Lockwood, here I am.” Looking at him intently, she hesitated at her next question. “Is there any chance he may have survived?”
Mr. Lockwood removed his glasses and laid them on the desk. “From the little bits of information that we have, nobody is known to have survived the camps in that area. I’m sorry, Adina.”
Adina nodded, feeling her daughter’s hand lightly rest on her shoulder. There was no shock in her eyes, no sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Only a gentle acceptance that Daniel Christensen was gone. For a moment in time, he was her beautiful German prisoner. He loved her for who she was, made her feel love in ways she’d never felt before. He ignited a desire within her to be true to herself and to embrace her Jewish heritage. Daniel told her she was mutig…brave. He made her want to be brave. He changed her life for the better.
She closed the leather journal, tied its straps, and carefully placed it back in the tattered fabric pouch. Then with some effort due to her stiff joints and aching hips, she stood from the chair and handed the pouch to the director.
“Oh no, Mrs. Ableman,” he said, holding up his hands. “You misunderstand. The journal is for you to keep. It has your name in it. It belongs to you.”
She smiled at him, her hazel eyes blazing with the confidence of years gone by. “No, Mr. Lockwood. This journal belongs to the town of Windsor. Put in that glass case in the other room where the town can cherish it and learn from it.”
Adina took her cane and extended her arm to her daughter. “Let’s go, Dukra. There’s so much more I want to show you before we fly home tomorrow.”
Photos of Camp Windsor
The Entrance to Camp Windsor circa 1944
Published with permission of Windsor Historical Society
Tents at Camp Windsor circa 1944
Published with permission of Windsor Historical Society
Pruning in the Fields circa 1944
Published with permission of Windsor Historical Society
Prisoner of War Band circa 1944
Published with permission of Windsor Historical Society
Author’s Note
More About Camp Windsor
In the small rural community of Windsor, California, the US government established a prisoner of war camp in an unused migrant labor camp and named it Camp Windsor. As one of the satellite camps of Camp Beal, Camp Windsor was situated on seventy acres and housed, on average, 250 German prisoners of war. The camp atmosphere was said to be generally relaxed. Four-foot-high barbed-wire fences outlined the perimeter with only two low-standing guard towers, which sometimes went unmanned. Thirty guards were housed in tents along with the prisoners.
With most local farm workers fighting in the war overseas, the prisoners at Camp Windsor presented a welcome source of labor to local farmers. They harvested hops, grapes, and prunes. There was one successful, yet brief, escape attempt by two prisoners who only wanted a glimpse of the Pacific Ocean. Once recaptured, they were returned to the camp no worse for the wear. For the most part, recorded stories and memories of Camp Windsor were fondly positive. Townsfolk recalled captured Germans who were grateful to not be fighting anymore, as so many were forced to do so against their will. They were happy to be safe, with a bed to sleep in, food to eat, and the ability to provide a hard day’s work. Camp Windsor was the first of the satellite prison camps to open in 1944 and the last to close, in 1946.
More about the Volkssturm and Forced Conscription
In 1944, Germany’s Volkssturm was the mobilization of German civilians to form a militia to resist the Allies. It was a last-ditch effort to bolster the dying Wehrmacht. An estimated six million men and women between the ages of sixteen and sixty served in the Volkssturm. Out of these, only about one million were armed. The rest were used as labor forces. A general conclusion of the Volkssturm effort is that it was a failure of epic proportions. For the most part, these recruits were poorly led, poorly trained, badly equipped, and comprised those who were physically and chronologically unable to withstand the severity of combat. Though accurate numbers are hard to come by, it is estimated that some 175,000 of these civilian troops were killed.
“While the egalitarian image of the Volkssturm was a facade, millions of men were forced into it.”
(Thompson on Yelton “Hitlers Volkssturm; The Nazi Militia and the Fall of Germany, 1944-1945”)
(Thierry Etienne Josephy Rotty; Senior Controller at NATO)
M. E. Blaustone, For the Love of My Enemy
