During that summer of 1945 I only slowly realized how much of a liberation the defeat of the Nazi state actually was for me. But the feeling was contradictory. I was of course deeply appreciative, but I was also filled with sadness at the destruction and division of Germany, which was still my home. I had grown up with the “old Prussian” values. Didn't they mean anything anymore? In the years of oppression and persecution I had so often been treated decently by people, including strangers, that those experiences overshadowed the negative and inhuman treatment I had suffered. As I result I had sympathy with those who were suffering, especially when they were being unfairly punished for crimes committed by their leaders. The people around me now began to look at me differently. My appearance meant that I couldn't be among the losers, so people assumed I was one of the victors. It was actually a good feeling after all those years. But I couldn't enjoy it without reservations. After all, I hadn't done anything special, I hadn't resisted actively. I hadn't spent a single day in a concentration camp. I had really just kept my head down and tried to avoid the worst of the blows. My method of avoiding problems before they happened had helped me survive, but I was no hero.

I helped the Weihrauchs to make their apartment and shop useable again. The Soviet military administration made the greatest efforts to ensure that life got back to normal in Berlin. For example, they ordered the rubble to be removed from the sidewalks and the roads. What was cleared from the streets was added to other piles of rubble. One day we heard the rumor that the Russians were looking for people to work in the big warehouses in Rummelsburg; they would be paid in food. We just had to go along early in the morning and take a bag of some kind with us. I made myself a rucksack out of a potato sack and went along with that and two cloth bags. There was already a big crowd at the gates.