Readers Remember

At the end of World War II, Amsterdam was liberated by the Canadians.

I was about 7 1/2 years old, living in an apartment with my mother, three sisters and baby brother. My father was never home, being sought after by the Nazis for hiding Jews. One Jewish gentleman was hidden upstairs for three years in a tiny room; I brought him food once a day.

Early that day, we heard this rumbling noise. And then there they were: a seemingly endless line of tanks, trucks, Jeeps and cannons. One Canadian soldier on a tank grabbed me and put me right on top where I stayed until they crossed the entire city. It was a long walk home. The soldier had given me a cigarette to give to my dad. I remember he was very pleased.

CLEMENS MEULEMAN

Long Beach

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As a doctor, I served as head of the field hospital of the Czech Legion’s 3rd Brigade, which helped liberate Poland and Czechoslovakia from Hitler’s occupation. During our advance, a peasant girl took us to a remote corner of her garden. There, at the bottom of an unused well, was a man. After we managed to pull him up, he collapsed on the ground, his back bent double, his legs useless. “He is a doctor,” the girl told us. “We hid him here because the Germans were out looking for him. I’d bring him food at night, and he’s been here for a year.”

I left the doctor in a military hospital, accompanied by the girl, whom he married later. Together, they went through murderous battles without a scratch. Then, the war over, in a flourishing Czechoslovakia, his chest adorned with a row of medals, he killed himself.

Could it be that, having been pushed beyond the limits of human endurance, he couldn’t survive a return to normal life?

DR. RUZENA BERLER

Beverly Hills