There were not many children in my life. Both of my brothers had sons. One was living in our house. I had known him since his birth. Both my mother and I took care of him from time to time, since his mother suffered from frequent depressions. We spoiled him and he was the prince in our life.

My younger brother, five years older than I, had been fighting in Spain against Generalissimo Franco with the German Talman Brigade. He had been wounded, nursed by an American girl named Irene. They fell in love, subsequently married and had a son. They called him Pierre. The war had ended.

My brother returned to Vienna to build up a home and means to support his family. He asked my husband and me if his wife and child could come and stay with us for a few years. She would be working as a nurse in this country and save up some money they badly needed.

We both were delighted and could not wait to meet the boat that brought them to this country. We met a little delightful blond five year old boy, with large beautiful brown eyes, an impish smile and a little limp. He was born with a club foot in the mountains of Spain in a lumber camp where my brother worked. No doctors could be reached to assist. So this little fellow was handicapped throughout life with an extra hardship, but he was always in the best of spirits.

We were crazy about him and he responded fully. He never wanted to leave our side. His mother worked nights but there was nothing he seemed to be missing: not love, food or fun. He immediately became my husbands assistant in the dark room developing film. He never wanted to see us leave in the morning when we had to go to work. He tried to hide my husbands hat to prevent his going,

He was permitted to play the radio, the television and the piano, which my younger nephew was not allowed to do as yet. There was a great competition going on between the two boys, and a lot of jealousy. We tried to do the best we could to keep both of them happy.

He stayed with us for about two years. At the time they were supposed to leave, I became quite ill. I was unable to leave my bed. I think one of the reasons was that I could not bear the thought of losing this lovely child.
I asked my sister in law if I could adopt him. Her answer was: ”You can keep him for a few years, but then you will have to give him back”. I could not possibly have done that. On the day of his departure, Pierre crawled into bed with me and pleaded "Why can’t you be my mother, let her be my aunt".

© Gerta Freeman - September 23, 2009