It took hours until the release certificates were issued. In the meantime we were fed. We had our first meal on our home soil. If I remember rightly, it was a goulash, the first meat we had had to eat in two-and-a-half years. The ‘Heimkehrer Release Certificate’ I of course still have today. At the top right-hand corner of it there is a stamp ‘Declaration on Oath. I declare on oath that the information given is the truth’. Under that is my signature. As profession I gave ‘student’. Under the rubric ‘Return from captivity, from which captivity, when captured’, are the dates 19. 9. 1947, in Russian 27. 3. 1945. The release address is shown as Braunau am Inn, Linzerstrasse 41. The day of release is 19. 9. 1947 at Braunau. A further stamp certifies that I was free of lice and infectious diseases.
On the back of the release certificate there are many stamps. From the date of release they go on for several weeks. They indicate that I received 50 schillings federal assistance and 10 cigarettes. Again, on 20 September from the Heimkehrer control point Bahnhof-Linz, I received loose change, cigarettes and a brochure. I was fed until the evening of 20 September. On 23 September an identity card was issued to me by the town of Braunau. On 2 October I received vouchers for two pairs of socks, two pairs of underpants and two vests.
The Heimkehrer who arrived on our transport were during the course of the day sorted into groups according to the places they would be released in the various Bundesländer. They were assembled into small groups. So, within our small group of officers, it was time to say farewell. Willi Cellbrot was going to Styria, Paul Eberhart to Vorarlberg and the Vienna doctors, I remember Fritz Walter, Kindler and Drechsler, to Vienna. The men from Upper Austria, including me, were travelling on overnight. So we were put in passenger carriages. The train drove through Vienna at night on the connecting line from the southern to the western railway. I recall passing the level crossing on the main Hietzing road. There I thought of Aunt Ilse, who lived not far away from there in Ober-St.Veit.
But we were not yet completely free. That became apparent to us when on the Enns, the demarcation line between the Russian and American zones of occupation, there was a last stop. For one last time we had to get out and form up to be counted, even if it was without the familiar and yet so annoying dawai. That last count has remained unforgettable to me to this day. Every time I cross over the Enns bridge, I look at the place not far from the large farm, where the small barracks of the Soviet border guards used to be. That time the Russians were friendly, there was no longer any reason for them to object, and we were allowed to get back into the train. On the western bank of the Enns the American guards were waiting for us, without us having to get out of the carriage. They went from compartment to compartment and looked at us half curiously, half with pity. Their casual manner and the jaunty cut of their uniforms were in striking contrast to the usual appearance of the Red Army troops.
In half-an-hour we had reached Linz. The train drove in to the ruined station. It had not yet come to a halt when a band, probably that of the railwaymen or of the police, was already striking up Oh, du mein Österreich. In front of the railway building, in the midst of the rubble, an area had been cleared into which we were led through a cordon of people. Here too, many were happily excited and many looked anxiously and searchingly, holding their pictures and placards of their missing relatives before them. I can still exactly recall the feeling of wonderful release and relaxation. Even as we were passing over the Enns bridge a final weight was lifted from me, and the tormenting uncertainty that had weighed heavily on us during our time as prisoners of war of the Russians, was at last gone.
As we walked through the cordon to the station, I literally had the feeling of being outside myself, of standing beside myself and observing everything as a spectator. The province of Upper Austria greeted its sons through the representative of the Landeshauptmann, Dr Lorenzoni. I can recall nothing of his speech. But I do know that Lorenzoni spoke warmly and kind-heartedly. I can still see before me the distinguished head of the speaker with his silver hair. Afterwards the three Pichler sisters sang the Hoamatland from the text by Franz Stelzhammer, Upper Austria’s provincial anthem. That too was deeply moving.
In Linz the Heimkehrer were sorted into groups according to their districts of residence. From the Bezirkshauptmannschaft Braunau am Inn a young official by the name of Bautenbacher took charge of us. Later I often used to meet him and he told me of his remarkable war experiences. He had been the pilot of one of the three gliders, loaded with members of Otto Skorzeny’s Waffen-SS unit, that had landed in September 1943 on the high plateau of the Gran Sesso and had freed Mussolini who was being held prisoner there. In Bautenbacher’s charge, Franzl Reisegger, Othmar Hadaier and I travelled from Linz to Braunau am Inn. In Wels, Grieskirchen and Ried im Innkreis we left the Heimkehrer who lived there. From Ried im Innkreis the journey took about another three-quarters of an hour.
It was on 20 September 1947 when my journey home came to an end and our train arrived in Braunau am Inn. Then, at the end, anxious questions had surfaced. How had the family survived the time during which the Russians were in Stockerau? What was known concerning Rudi’s death? But I would soon know. It was certainly a different kind of homecoming from anything we had imagined. But it was good for all that. I was lucky to have come through. At the station about 100 people were waiting. As soon as I got out I could see my family. My Father, was bearded as ever, but older. My joyfully excited Mother was looking youthful. Liesl was now 13 years old. After we had greeted and hugged each other, we Heimkehrer were taken into the small waiting room of the station, where Bürgermeister Fageth welcomed us home. After a while we went from the station, outside the town, into the town where at that time the Protestant rectory was in Linzerstrasse No. 41. It was located within the medieval centre of the town in a narrow row of houses. Over the front door there was written, in white on a red background, Herzlich Willkommen, surrounded by a garland. I was moved that it was there for me.
My homecoming was described 40 years later by my sister Liesl as follows:
We had always worried about my brother Armin. Firstly, because things were dangerous on the Eastern Front, secondly because he had been seriously wounded twice. Then we had news that he was alive and was a prisoner of the Russians. When we received it, I can’t clearly remember, because at the time I was only 11 years old. I presume that Mother told me of it. But the joy that my parents and I felt was enormous. Our fears were then at an end, because, as we thought, Rudi was completely safe at the war school. It is true that it was a long time until Armin returned home in autumn 1947. The radio announcements concerning the Heimkehrer had probably been heard by somebody from the parish who had passed it on to us. I don’t remember them, only the great feeling of joy that my brother, whom I had not seen since Christmas 1944, was coming home.
The train carrying several Heimkehrer arrived at the station in Braunau. While I had not even been afraid during air-raids and had been interested watching the aeroplanes, the sight of those figures was depressing. Grey, emaciated, exhausted, and looking the worse for wear, carrying nothing, only a bundle of possessions, but with the most precious possession of all – life. I especially remember that Armin seemed to have lost the power of speech concerning what he had experienced in the war and as a prisoner of war. He would say nothing about it and we were not allowed to ask…