This post has nothing to do with sex. It’s about a very personal letter, written at the worst of times. It’s a love letter when love was a luxury. A dear relative gave it to me when I turned 18.
It reads (translated from German):
Gdansk, March 9, 1945
I had great luck. It is now 13:00 and I’m sitting in the hull of a steamship. We were told to pack at 11:00 and had only an hour to get on board. We’ve been sitting here since noon. Whether it’s for the better, I don’t know. They say we will leave in a convoy at night, but nobody knows our destination. Doesn’t matter, as long as it’s west. We’re several hundred here, all sitting on some straw. There is no space to lay down for the night. When we leave, there are no lights and we all have to be quiet until we get to another shore. That’s all that matters.
Now, my dear husband, be well. God willing, you will escape, too.
Kisses, your loving Ruth.
They reunited two years later and remained married until both of them passed away before I was born.
If you ever wonder what really motivates me, why I care about history, cultures, and people of all walks of life, this is it.