Two sides to every story

Each year on February 23, my mother used to have her own personal "day of mourning."  That was the anniversary of the day in 1945 when her hometown, Pforzheim (in southern Germany), was obliterated by an allied bombing attack.  That's now been 67 years, and Mom is no longer here to mourn.  So perhaps I'll stand in for her.

Mom had a book documenting the attack titled "Der Untergang Einer Stadt" (The Downfall of a City) that she would read and reread, looking at the pictures for hours.

Even in her last few years, after strokes had taken away her ability to read, she would page through the book and look at the pictures.  She marked many of the pages that she wanted to show me with little slips of paper, which I have preserved:

Many of those pages showed "before and after" scenes of the city.  The ones she marked had particular memories for her, and she would point out the areas where she had walked, crossed the river, gone swimming, visited the market, etc.  This photo is the elementary school, the "Hildaschule", where she attended.  She would point to the window on the left side of the second story, where she remembered sitting and watching the troops pass by on the street below.  Like most of the downtown area of the city, the school was heavily damaged.

The bombing raid lasted only about 22 minutes.  There were 379 British aircraft involved, dropping a mixture of explosive bombs meant to destroy on impact, and phosphorus bombs designed to spread fire.  The downtown area, with its ancient, dry, timber construction, was totally destroyed - an area of about 2 miles by 1 mile, reduced to rubble.  Surrounding residential areas were devastated; an estimated 83% of the town's buildings were gone.  The fire in the city center was so intense that it sucked all the oxygen from nearby areas; in addition to those who died from the explosions, fires, or burning phosphorous, many more were suffocated.

A German newspaper later reported, "The amount of deaths and the area of destruction in relation to the size of the city was much higher than any other city attacked - even Hiroshima."  Mom used to always say that there were 35,000 people killed; official reports now say that at least 17,600 died in the direct attack - one of every four residents.  Perhaps the larger number reflects the long-term impact.

Just last week I came across this video.  The opening scenes purportedly show British bombers over Pforzheim dropping bombs on the city, calling it an "important industrial center."  This commentary is chilling to me:

Air warfare, terrifying and devastating, has returned one hundredfold to Germany.   RAF landcasters unload everything from 500 pounders to blockbusters on Pforzheim, important industrial center.
A city is literally being wiped out before your eyes.  Explosions and fires are sucking the oxygen from the air.  Nothing can live in this inferno.
City by city, the Nazi Reich is dying.

The video then spends 6 minutes documenting the rubble and remains of the destroyed city.

This second video shows a couple of minutes of the city's vibrancy and beauty before the destruction, followed by similar scenes of the bombing and aftermath.  The young woman in the early scenes reminds me of Mom, who was 18 years old in early 1945.  I think she would have wept to see these scenes.

For me to watch those airplanes dropping bombs and see the fires and explosions that result is overwhelming. The almost glib, boastful tone of the commentator rankles.  As those bombs begin to fall, I know that somewhere in the city below, hiding desperately in a cellar at Sophienstraße 34, is a terrified woman and her son, my grandmother and uncle.

Mom was not in Pforzheim when this occurred; she was in a service camp in the country many miles away.  But she knew from radio reports that the bombing was in progress; soon she saw the flames lighting the night sky as the city burned for days afterward.  She knew her mother and brother were there, along with other relatives; she would not know for some two weeks that they had survived by fleeing along a river to escape the inferno of the city.

This action took place near the end of WWII.  Whenever she discussed it, Mom would always insist that Pforzheim had absolutely no military value; it was known for making watches and jewelry.  She felt the bombing was an attempt to "send a message" to Germany.  But she also felt that the Germans already knew by then that the war was lost.  It was senseless destruction.  She told of meeting an American soldier in the rubble months after the attack, and after she explained to him what had taken place, he replied with tears, "God forgive the Allies."

War is a terrible thing.  Motives are not always clear.  Decisions are sometimes very hard to justify.  But remembering this event, and being able to see aspects of it from two very different viewpoints, reminds me that every story has multiple explanations.  It's often very difficult to see things from another's viewpoint, especially when we are emotionally invested in our own.  In this case, there is no doubt that the atrocities of the Nazi regime are among the most tragic of history.  There is no doubt that the German bombing of London took its toll, and there was likely some sense of justified retribution (expressed by the video commentator's "returning one hundredfold").

But to have a personal link to the innocent civilians who were the victims in this scenario only emphasizes the depth of the tragedy that war always presents.  Thousands of innocent men, women, and children lost their lives in this terrible event.  Tens of thousands who survived were forever changed by the experience.  As a descendant of a survivor, I remember my dear mother and grandmother today, grateful for their lives and the legacy they passed on to me.