Recollections of 19 MAR 1945 (Click on links for full size view in new browser window - close window to return here)
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Bill Neutzling: I explained to Mr. Schmidinger that I had watched one bomb hit in the river and one hit in the street in front of a church.
Franz Schmidinger: Hi Bill. Thanks for your quick answer. It's highly interesting to discuss the subject with someone who helped to get rid of Adolf. I enclose a picture with my position during the raid. The Best to you, Franz.
After evaluating the information on what you have seen when your bombs were dropped, I have come to the conclusion that the bombs that fell into our backyard may have come from the plane you were in. Our backyard was about 240 ft. long, 1 second later and the house would have been rubbish. Good fortune you didn't hit that little church, I was married there on December 1958 while I was stationed in Germany with 7th US Army. (I emigrated to the US in 1955 and had to return to Germany in 1964 to take care of my than ill parents.) I enclose 2 maps ( #1 #2 ) to show you how close you came to doing away with us.
My recollection of the air raid on Muhldorf on March 19 1945 is as follows: It was a beautiful sunny day in the spring when around 11.10 the air raid alarm was given. I went to a shelter about 500 yards away, and only a few minutes later the first bombs where dropped. They did hit the marshalling yard exactly, but it seems that the following bombers where misled by smoke and many bombs fell into the town south of the railroad. All in all they left an awful mess. According to my correspondence with Mr. Bill Neutzling, a crewmember in one of the bombers, and his description of what he has observed it is quite possible that the bombs that fell into our backyard came from his plane. However, the only damage done was a hole in the fence. Only 10 years later I also was a member in the US Army, from early 1955 to August 1960. The attached picture was taken in September 1955 in Ft. Huachuca Arizona. I read the page of our town archivist. Highly interesting since I was only 11 years old at the time and don't remember too much. Hoping this is useful to you I remain yours truly, Franz X. Schmidinger
At 3/19/2000 is the 55th anniversary - my thoughts return: I was 17 years old at this bad day in 1945. 40 days later the war would be over - also my three year developement to a shop-assistant. In the last years of the war all companies in Muehldorf had to build air-raid shelters, because they feared a bomb-attack of the railways and the station. At 3/19/1945 the fears become reality. A short time before midday came the alarm. We flee in the air-raid shelter of our company a short time before the first bombs fall down. My feeling was, the attack took about two hours with a short break. Neighbours joined us in the shelter. At the end we sat in there like sardines in a can. My chief pressed his body against the door, because the pressure of the near detonations opened it. My only wish was to go through this and stay alive.
When thy gave the over-signal - I tried to go to the station. There was the house of my parents and I wanted to seek for them. Two people died in the cellar of our home, all others came out alive. The whole house was completely destroyed. I met my mother on the street - she survived. And also my father. During the attack he was in another air-raid shelter in the town mountain. We all three survived - each at different place. All we had was what we wore. I remember, in a neighbours house kitchen we got soup with wurst. My mother's brother came from another district. He wanted to look after us. He took my father (he was over 70 years old) and brought him to his farm. My mother and I found a place to spend the night in a friends house in Muehldorf nord.
At the next day we was so lucky to get a room in the Railroadman-House. Every day we came to our destroyed parents house and seek for something useful. Things we pulled out from the dirt. After four weeks the Government allowed us a room in a farmers house near Unteraham. That was 1/2 hour by foot to my work. Father came back to us and we lived one year together in that room. At Christmas evening, I remember, we killed fleas, because they itched us terrible. After one year things get better.
(translated by Mike Schmitzer, editor at "Wochenblatt")
It is a sunny day this 19th March 1945. Today is my fathers and my sisters nameday. We live in Muehldorf near the station. I am 8 years old my brother is 11 and my sister is 5. We have just come home from school, we hear an alarm, the first alarm and immediately the second alarm, main alarm.
Mother shouts: "Take your suitcases and run to the air-raid shelter. I follow you at once. Hurry up! Now, the siren again! Quickly, quickly!" We run as fast as we can. We are out of breath, we stumble, we gasp. We run for our life. At last we arrive and the first bombers reach our town at the same time. We are all out of breath and sit down on benches in the cellar. There is only one door, an iron door, no windows and two or three little lamps, which give some scanty light in the long cellar inside of a hill. There are only some people here. Everybody looks angry and is out of breath.
The first bombs fall. We hear the niose and the detonation and the iron door makes a dreadful noise. All people are afraid and the children put their hands on their ears. Younger children cry and shout. "The children have to stop crying! We will running out of air!" a man in uniform shouts loudly. New people are coming; they are crying and shouting. "Where is my mother?" a women asks. "At home, I think!" another woman answers. "There is no home, there is no house, there is nothing!" the first one answers and collapses at these words.
Again other people are coming in, my father with them. My sister crawls on his lap and cuddles on him. Bombs are falling all the time. The hellish noise of the iron door gives us a scare every time. Other people come in, fear and soot in their face.
Suddenly the top of the ventilation shaft falls down with an awful noise. Immediately it is on fire. "We'll burn!" people shout. "Attention! Silence! A shovel!" a man in uniform shouts. He shovels sand on the flames and the fire goes out. "Open the door! We need fresh air!" All people cough.
And all the time bombs fall and fall. When will the inferno be over? Will we survive? People come in continually. There is no place, it's so narrow, some people get claustrophobia. And all the time new people want to come in. We sit there hour for hour, the attack takes no end we think. Many people begin to pray.
Finally all-clear, we hoped so long. People go the exit. We also leave the cellar. Where is the way? Big holes are in the street. Where am I? There was yet a house this morning! Where is it? Attention! Watch the street! Is there grandmothers house? Yes, but in her garden there is a big hole, we can't go inside. So we shout after her. My grandma is still alive. Thank god! We all burst into tears.
Now we look for our house. Half of the house is missing. The neighbours houses have disappeared. All reduced to ashes. I never will forget the following night. No window, no door, no water, no light in the house. We are lying on the floor without sleep. The whole night one detonation after the other. It burns at all ends. Again and again houses go up in flames. It's bright in the middle of the night. There is such a noise, a terrible noise. The wind begins to blow, blows into fire and the flames strike to the sky. An odour of fire is in the air.
At last the morning comes. I go to my grandma, looking how she is. On the way: What's that? That's my doll's kitchen! I approach it. My doll's kitchen is filled with parts of corpse: feet, arms, and a head - the head of our neighbour! I am sick! I run home - deathly pale. I will remember these days the rest of my life, as if they were yesterday. It's my most terrible memory.
PS: Dear Mr. Neutzling, I want to say that I don't blame you. We all know, you acted on orders. I think we should learn, that war is terrible every time and everywhere. Everybody in the world wants to live in peace, that's what we should try in the future and we shall pray the peace will succeed.
(translated by Mike Schmitzer, editor at "Wochenblatt")
