Maria's Story by Maria Kula & Joseph Kula

Author:Maria Kula & Joseph Kula [Kula, Maria]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Biography & Autobiography, History, Military, World War Ii, History, Europe, Austria & Hungary
ISBN: 9781460208588
Publisher: FriesenPress
Published: 2013-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 9

Post-War Italy: Our New Refuge

No one knew for certain what our ultimate destination would be; even the Burgermeister of St. Margarethen couldn’t tell us. Without our French friend to translate, we couldn’t communicate with our American liberators. And without being able to communicate, we had no idea where they were taking us.

Some of us still believed we were on our way to Poland, but it soon became apparent we were heading in the wrong direction. Instead of going north toward Czechoslovakia and the Polish border, the American convoy was snaking its way south.

Maria, Josef and Stefania have a portrait taken in Italy in 1946.

Aboard the trucks with their distinctive white stars, the mood was still upbeat. We sang and we prayed, thanking God for bringing the war to an end.

The journey was a long one, through valleys with their quilt-work farms, through forests of dense conifers, and up winding alpine passes. With the sun sinking low in the west, the trucks came to a halt on the banks of a mountain river, swollen by the spring runoff. It was a wild and wonderful spot.

By all the activity, we understood we were to spend the night. With light-hearted banter and chit-chat among themselves, the American soldiers began setting up the tents. We felt totally out of place, not being able to help and, for the second time in our young lives, not understanding the language.

We spent a restless night. It was cold up there at that high elevation and, because we had left with just our personal belongings, we had no blankets with which to cover ourselves.

On top of that, there was that incessant noise of the rushing river, a sharp contrast to the tranquillity of the gentle stream that meandered through St. Margarethen.

Waking up the next morning, it was still hard to believe we were free. In our minds, we were still in Austria. But our eyes told us we were somewhere else. And those soldiers were American, not German.

“Dzien dobry,” (“Good morning”) we greeted our drivers. They answered in their own language, then said something else. We could only smile and nod.

That first morning was something special. We waded into the cold water of a sheltered pool at the river’s edge and washed the sleep from our faces. The early morning sun cast a golden glow on the trees and rocks on the far bank. To us it was more than a lovely picture; it was a miracle. It was as if we were on a camping vacation in the mountains — the first vacation Stefania and I ever had.

The reverie was broken with a call from the drivers. Using sign language, they indicated we should pack up and get into the trucks. There wasn’t even time for breakfast. We would have to eat on the road.

After about four long, bumpy hours, the trucks stopped and the soldiers helped us off, our heads spinning from the dizzying drive over ever-winding roads.

We couldn’t believe our eyes.

There before us was a sign.

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