Exactly 60 years ago, on October 29, 1944, the Hospital transport vessel Bremerhaven left harbour from Ventspils, Latvia. Aboard were 3171 people - 1200 seriously wounded, unable to walk; 315 walking wounded; 680 civilians fleeing communism; the balance made up of prisoners of war, members of work battalions, soldiers, medical corpsmen and the ship’s crew. Among the civilians was 13 year-old Leo Karsen-Karassev fleeing the Red Tide with his 14 year-old sister, the youngsters separated from their family, alone during terrible times. What follows is Leo’s recollections of the days leading up to, and including, the last voyage of the Bremerhaven.

*

The morning was beautiful, with the sun spreading its autumn rays over the land in acceptance of the nearing end to summer's beauty and warmth. My sister and I ventured out to snoop around the neighbouring farms which were deserted by occupants who had left their homes to escape the oncoming enemy attack. While walking across the familiar paths through our beloved forest, we the children were not yet aware of the great changes that were already in motion around us. Playing “soldiers” — carrying sticks of wood as “guns” on our shoulders — we marched towards home. I had no idea then that the role of a real soldier was to be mine to a great extent.

When we reached our front garden, a young man in German uniform approached us. He explained that the rapid advancement of the front necessitates our having to leave our homes. “Be ready at 6pm for your journey to Germany. You're going to be taken to the seaside and transported off the island. Old people can stay at home; we don't need them and we're not ordering them to leave.”
The sun was setting when the truck arrived, already full of people from other villages. They each carried bundles of their belongings, just as I carried a bag containing our meager necessities. For some reason we had not taken any food, probably hoping to get something to eat on the way.

Dusk had turned to dark, when we arrived at the farthest tip of our small island. The sun had completed its daily duty and disappeared below the sea level. Barges were lined at the shore to take us over the Bay of Livonia to Vindaw, Latvia (Ventspils, Windau - ed.). The reason for this activity being performed during the night was that enemy planes circled the island every day, alert to any unusual movement on the roads.

The colour of the sea was dark and forbidding. Unfriendly waves thrashed against the barge. Sleepy now, lying on the straw spread over the floor, tiredness overcame our bodies, but it was impossible to close our eyes. Empty stomachs began to demand their due. Other passengers had brought some food and were eating without giving a thought to sharing even a little with us. There was no charity.

It was nearly morning when our barge reached the port of Vindaw. Activity was heavy in the harbour — ships moving around... (War material was transported back to Sõrve Peninsula for a last attempt to save our homeland. Many young Estonians lost their lives there. The last, fierce battle on the Peninsula took many victims. Our juniper fields were covered with bodies of the brave men who gave their ultimate best in order to follow orders from higher sources who showed no pity for the human lives lost..)

Our barge settled at a pier, where we were allowed to disembark. After we'd been hustled into a large school-house, there was still no sign of food... The following day, almost by accident, I came across a dustbin where I discovered an unopened can! The cheese-spread that it contained was a surprise to me and felt Heaven sent. My sister and I ate it with relish. After a few days — at last — a lean, nondescript soup was served, but we felt it was better than nothing.

Having spent what seemed like a week in the school-house, we were transported back to the harbour. There we sat a whole day waiting for further instructions. All the streets around us were hemmed in the barbed wire. A large hospital transport ship was anchored in the harbour, onto which we were to be taken later, for our escape to Germany.

The ship was full of wounded soldiers as well as prisoners of war, plus some animals that had been confiscated by the Germans. Our turn to board came late in that afternoon and, hugging our belongings, we stepped up the long, hanging stairway to the deck. We had to leave our bundles in a heap on the deck before we were directed to the bottom of the ship, where (again) straw was spread on the floor for us to lie on. Russian spy planes occasionally passed overhead, obviously aware of our impending voyage.

On the open sea, the ship took direction towards Germany. The sea was relatively calm with low waves, when twilight settled... Sleep escaped us in the depth of the ship. I suffered from seasickness and kept climbing up to the deck for fresh air.

Morning came, with the sun at the horizon sending its rays gleaming into the sea. Open sea surrounded us, with waves now slightly higher than the night before. We felt free and totally separate from all the horrors of war that went on somewhere in the far distance. We were unaware of what lay ahead. Hours passed, taking us further from home; leaving behind our childhood with the favorite paths in our forests...

The sun was already half way across the sky when tragedy struck. That moment is inscribed in my memory for ever as a turning point in my life. Back in the bowels of the ship we felt a sudden shudder go through its body. The lights went out and our hearts filled with terror. What had happened? We were unaware of the magnitude of our fate at that very moment. After a while the light came back on and I wanted to go back up to the deck, but was no longer allowed. Soldiers blocked the stairways. Again, the mystery of why were we imprisoned, struck us with fear. I knew intuitively that something had gone wrong with the ship. As I lay on the straw, I felt the angle of the ship change, confirming that our situation was indeed serious. Slowly the ship started tilting to one side, sending straw to slide with the people lying on it against the outer side of the ship.

That moment seemed like an eternity — water and the smell of smoke streamed down from above. By now it was obvious that tragedy had struck.

After a long time of waiting, we were given permission to ascend the zig-zagging steps from level to level. Our climbing was made difficult by the angle of the ship. We, the youngsters, crawled up over the railings. Panic arose among the older people and wounded soldiers who struggled to climb up against the falling water. Screams echoed through the chaos, as fresh wounds were stepped on. Legless bodies fought for their lives, with blood seeping through the bandaged stumps, covering the iron steps...

At last we reached the opening which was kept clear of flames by the use of watepumps. We were out of the iron casket that very nearly had become our final tomb in the sea. Many wounded and older people had lost their lives. The ship was on fire, lying on its side, water reaching almost to the deck. Flames, reaching high up into the dark sky, threw threatening reflections on the surface of the water.

A warship came to our rescue and took the survivors under its care. Hot coffee was served. I took a piece of farm-baked bread from someone's bag, and my sister and I munched on it silently in secret.

We docked at the Polish port, at that time called Gotenhaven. Trucks were waiting for our transportation. An unforgettable sight farewelled us: the ship burnt like a candle on the distant sea, a victim of the war. It took seven hours before the sea engulfed it. Like a sensitive living being, who didn't want to surrender or acknowledge the hour of destruction. (The sea gives and the sea takes.)

Torpedoes from enemy planes were responsible — one had struck the ship's stern full blast. We were lucky to have been in the bow, so we only felt the shudder going through its body. The brutal pilots of the planes were not deterred by the Red Cross signs on the ship. Rumour had it that the captain had been offered a fleet of ships to protect us, but had refused, believing the signs on his ship were enough to keep the enemy at bay.

After escaping the ship, we were transported to a camp with barracks and barbed wire, and a sentry at the gate. At the camp we had to suffer the indignities of a delousing-sauna, where our heads were shaven. A camp committee arrived later to recruit young volunteers to join the airforce as aids. My sister and I enlisted in the hope of serving together, but to our disappointment we were separated.

Despite many similar disappointments, hardships and complications, our destiny was kind to our family, bringing us all together in the end.

(According to the author’s research most of those on board the Bremerhaven - 2795 people were rescued from the waves of the Baltic Sea. Of those who perished, the majority - 289 - were civilians, old and very young, women and children. - ed.)

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