25 Those Were Hard Times

Käthe Wöhe now lives alone in a modern apartment complex in the area of Dresden known as Leutewitz. Although she is a small woman, her quick movements and sensitivity to the needs of her guests are reminders of a long life of heroic service in the name of love. Her story says little about political life under the Communists but speaks to the results of war and of the committment and determination of one woman in the face of heavy suffering and responsibilities.

Käthe: I was born in Dresden to Walter Singer and his wife Elisabeth Singer, whose maiden name was Hiller. I was born premature and weighed only three pounds. When I was four years old, I was out on our balcony and fell into a tub of boiling water in which my mother was washing diapers. I suffered third-degree burns and had to remain in the Johannstadt Hospital in Dresden for a year, after which I could go home. I had to have skin grafts. In the meantime, my brother Heinz was born in Dresden on September 24, 1929.

When I started school, I had trouble with my gymnastics class because of my burns, which made it impossible for me to do some of the exercises. Nevertheless, I did my best, and after much hard work, I was able to graduate from the eighth grade. Because of my health, it was not possible for me to complete another year at school, which was normally obligatory. In order to prepare me to be a housekeeper, my father sent me to a home economics school that was then located on Pirnaer Street in Dresden. There I learned all sorts of practical things such as cooking, baking, and ironing. I loved everything I learned there, and I formed a friendship with my teacher that lasted for many years. She was a very intelligent woman, well read, kind, and pious.

In those days, I was active in the Evangelical Church. In 1940, I was confirmed in the Johannis Church. After that I began an apprenticeship at the famous Lingner Company— mouthwash, toothpaste, perfume, dental equipment, etc. I worked at this from October 1, 1941, until September 30, 1944. After my apprenticeship, I took my examinations with the Board of Industry and Trade and passed with distinction, which was a very positive experience for me. But then came the great trauma in my life.

The great air raid on Dresden came on February 13 and 14, 1945, and the city was bombed to rubble. My mother, who was only thirty-nine years old, was killed as well as my grandparents and my father’s sister with her two children. All in all, twenty-two of my near and distant relatives were killed. I was only nineteen at the time, and I was devastated. It was a terrible shock. My father was still in the army at the time and came home when I informed him of the tragic event. When my father got home, he went out for an entire night searching for my mother, and he left a letter with me, which I was to open at a specified time in case he did not return. But he did return and silently took the letter back. I will never forget those days. It was not easy to lose everything.

At first I tried to take care of my father and my brother as best I could, but unemployment was everywhere and living conditions left much to be desired. I had to sleep in the same room with my father and a second mother, which was just too much for me, so I decided to move in with my aunt, who lived in Landshut in Lower Bavaria. But since they didn’t have very much to eat there either, I had to go looking for work. At first I got a job on a farm where I worked in the kitchen and then took care of the children. I was not strong enough to do farm labor. Every two weeks, I got a day off to visit my aunt and her family.

One Sunday she asked me if I wanted to stay home with my uncle or if I would like to go to church with her. So I went to church with her. My aunt was a Mormon. So from her I learned about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and its doctrines. Since I had been raised as a Christian, I was interested in everything. I noticed right away that the Church went into the doctrines in much more depth. After a period of study and trial, I was baptized in Landshut on October 11, 1947. At my confirmation, I received a wonderful testimony. I had the feeling that strong cords were pulling me up into heaven. It was an experience I have not forgotten to this day.

Suddenly the word was out that the last train from the West to the East would soon be leaving, and I was overcome with homesickness. I wanted to get home. I loved my Dresden. Well, while away I had become a member of the true church, and when I got home, my testimony was strengthened.

I approached the church there on Dr.-Kurt-Fischer Allee and opened the door for the first time. A very handsome and spiritual young man was standing at the pulpit to open the Sunday School. On an Easter walk, I became better acquainted with this brother, and we both had the feeling that we belonged together. We became engaged in June 1948. He was thirty-two years old, and I was just twenty-four.

On January 29, 1949, we were married. In spite of the fact that my father was not at the time a member of the Church, he arranged the wedding for me and my dear husband and invited members of the Church, including the district president Brother Fritz Lehnig and the Relief Society president from Cottbus, Sister Voigt. The only thing that made it possible to hold a wedding celebration in those days was the welfare goods we had received from the Church—wheat, canned fruit, milk, and foods containing fat. At the time, my father and my second mother raised a rabbit on the balcony so that we could have some meat. I will never forget it. It was a wonderful blessing from God. The only sad thing about the wedding was that my dear mother, who had died on February 14, 1945, could not be there. She was such a dear and faithful mother. Before her death she had written in my autograph book:

Nicht der ist reich, wer vieles hat,
Und immer trachtet mehr zu kriegen.
Du bist ein Reicher in der Tat,
Wenn Du Dir lässt an Gott genügen.

[He is not rich, who filled with greed,
Is always striving to get more.
You are rich, and rich indeed,
If you are satisfied with God.]

It was especially sad for me that our children had to grow up without knowing a wonderful grandmother.

Käthe Wöhe and Heinz Wöhe. Dresden, 1991. Courtesy Käthe Wöhe.

A dear old sister, Sister Simon, who had had ten children who were all married except for one daughter, took my husband and me into her apartment and gave us one and a half rooms so that we could live alone together. At the time, my husband was the president of the Sunday School. Later he worked in the MIA, and then he taught the lessons for the elders quorum, which he enjoyed very much.

Our first daughter, Christine, was born on November 11, 1949, and my husband and I were happy people. She was healthy, strong, and lively, and could never get enough to eat. Everything turned out well. I had to go looking for work because my husband was often ill from his experiences in the war and in a POW camp. So I looked for a job so that we would not go into debt. But I was often sick myself, and a companion at work told me, “You are getting a stomach ulcer.” She was right. Then I had to quit work because my daughter Christine had to be taken care of. In those days, there were no kindergartens.

On September 17, 1951, we had our second daughter, Edith. Since food supplies were so meager, she didn’t get enough calcium, and a double hip inflammation was discovered. I had to do something right away so that she would not be injured permanently and have to limp or something. I had the good fortune to get a diet for her from a doctor that consisted of grains of rye crushed and mixed together, with a broth of calf bones and vegetables (no butter). By following this diet for one year, everything turned out well. Of course she had to lie bandaged for a year, and it was not easy for her nor for me. But with time she became stronger and healthy. My aunt had put her name in the temple for me. We bought a used tricycle for her to strengthen her legs because she was so frail. But in spite of all that, we were happy that we had two sweet little girls.

And now my great desire was to have a son who would run up and down the stairs and up and down the street and who would sing. We saw a movie about the famous singer Caruso, and that’s the kind of son I wanted to have. My desire was fulfilled, but then in my eighth month, I suddenly developed a heart problem. I had to be sent to a treatment center for mothers up in Mecklenburg. While I was up there, my husband had to move. My father-in-law and my father had both married again and helped with the move. Actually, I didn’t want to go way up there, but the doctor insisted. However, I had a wonderful time there and brought a healthy, husky little boy into the world. My dear Heinz was overjoyed when I finally returned home. Our son was the very image of his father. He was so cute and very good. We were very happy. Even though these were difficult times, I would not have done without them.

But after my third child, I had to have an operation on my legs because of poor blood circulation, and my convalescence took nearly two years. During that time, my husband, Heinz, often went alone with the children walking in the woods or on other excursions until I was able to go with them. Walks in the woods were some of the most beautiful times we had together. My husband was such a good naturalist, and the children would ask, “Daddy, what kind of a tree is this?” or “Daddy, what is that?” They were always so proud that their father knew. And when they had a class on nature at school, the teacher would always say, “Where did you learn that?” “My Daddy taught me.” They were very proud of their father.

We were very poor, but my husband did not want me to go to work because it would have been at the expense of the children’s health. So for breakfast he ate oatmeal cooked in water with pieces of dry bread, and I stayed home with the children. Finally, when my son was ten years old (1964), I couldn’t stand it anymore and went looking for work. It was not easy, but we needed the money, so I had to do it. I worked in an office. I had had some part-time work before to earn a little money. Once I had worked for six months in a post office so that I could buy the children some clothes. At that time, I couldn’t always go to church because I didn’t have the strength. Today I realize that I didn’t always do everything just right in those days. Nevertheless, I wanted to help my family.

Little by little, things got better. Whenever I did anything wrong, Father in Heaven sent me a trial, and when we tried our best to obey the commandments, we were blessed.

In 1971 my husband had a sudden stroke and was taken to the section of the hospital for the seriously ill in Kreischa. I could see that it was not the best place for him to get well, so I asked to see the head doctor, and he listened to me. After some struggle, I was able to get my huband declared an invalid so I could take him home with me. From that time on until I received a pension at age sixty, I had to work so that we could get along. For many years, my husband stayed at home and helped me with the housework and shopping because he could not work. Unfortunately, his health did not get any better.

My husband comes from Meerane. Later, his parents moved to Grüna, then to Chemnitz, and finally to Dresden. For several years, he had bleeding on his brain. That was caused in part because of the fact that he almost drowned when he was four years old. But in spite of that, he attended elementary school and graduated from a trade school. He then had an apprenticeship for salespeople in the animal feed business in which he worked. But then came the war, and he was with an antiaircraft unit, which was not good for his head injury. After that he ended up in a POW camp in Yugoslavia and with very little nourishment was put on a crew building roads. He had a lot of health problems there, including problems with the sciatic nerve, dysentery, fever, and many other things. In September 1947, he returned home totally destroyed. Many of his problems became evident only years later after we were married. Once he passed a kidney stone. Those were difficult times.

In November 1985, I quit working and had so looked forward to a time when we could go walking together and take trips together. From my work with the railroad, I had a free pass on the trains. Unfortunately nothing could be done after my retirement [because of her husband’s health], which I regret very much. I had wanted to show my husband so many things, but it was too late.

G. Davis: But you were able to go to the temple, weren’t you?

Käthe: Yes, on the first day the temple was opened, in 1985. That was the most wonderful thing. The temple was open, and we had to go there on the train, but with the trains, well, you can never tell. The train came into the Freiberg station at the very last minute, so what did I do? I ran up to a man who was unloading some bottles from a truck and asked him if he could take us to the temple. It was urgent. I told him I would pay him. Would he please do that for me? And he said, “Yes, I’ll do that, as soon as I unload these bottles.” And he drove my husband and me to the temple. Oh, what a blessing it was that we made it on time. I gave him some money, but he didn’t want to take it. “No, no, no. I appreciate the offer, but I just did this for you.” He was a total stranger. After the temple session, we went home on the train.

During the open house, I took eight days vacation and spent those eight days helping at the temple. I must say that was like a fairy tale come true when I think back on it. I stood there watching the visitors to see that everything went well, that nothing happened. One day two hikers came, husband and wife. They had on their hiking shoes and carried hiking sticks. I will never forget them. They had a little baby in a basket. They put the basket with the little baby down beside the door, put their walking sticks there, took off their hats, and went in. They looked over everything and were very astounded. Then they came back. The baby hadn’t cried a bit. It was very small. No one had said anything; we just all stood there. But the little baby must have been comfortable in its basket. They came back, picked up the baby and went on their way.

It was a little hard on me; that was my last year of working, 1984–85. I remember a brother came up and said, “Sister Wöhe, can you stand here any longer, or are you going to fall down?” I said, “Well, I am getting pretty exhausted.” “As soon as that brother gets back from lunch, you go eat something yourself,” he said. Everything was so wonderful there. And it went on for eight days.

One day a scholar came; I guess he was anyway; he wanted to know this and that. And our job was to instruct them that they couldn’t talk inside. We told them to look at everything, and then when they had questions, if they would please turn to the missionaries who were waiting outside, they would explain everything to them. But inside everyone had to be still. And they were.

The most beautiful thing was when my colleague from work came. I had to tell her where I was going, but I never in all my life expected to see her there. Suddenly there she was. That was something that she came, that she saw and heard everything.

G. Davis: Had she known before that you were a Mormon?

Käthe: Yes, she knew. But we could not take someone by the hand and lead them to church. That was out of the question. You could say this or that. You could invite them to a concert, but you could not invite them to church. We couldn’t do that. We never did it. We could tell them that our church was putting on a concert.

We had beautiful concerts, there in the old meeting place on the Dr.-Kurt-Fischer Allee. Of course, it is nice here in the new building on Tiergarten Street, but I think we were more spiritual out there because we grew up in that building. We had to clean it ourselves. We had dramas there, and dramas with our Primary children. Those were beautiful times. Well, we were tied to the old building.

Now we have had to move over here. Oh, it is very beautiful here, but that was a big change. It was like it was when we had to move out of our house in Frankenberg Street, where we had lived for thirty years, two-thirds of our life, and where our children had grown up. But my husband didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to leave, and I told him, “Hans, you are not getting any better. We will have a smaller apartment there. I can’t take care of this place anymore, but I can manage over there. You will have a balcony and can sit outside. You will like it.” That’s the way it is with many things; you just have to get used to them.

G. Davis: So, in those days did you have a feeling of isolation from the Church here in the GDR?

Käthe: Yes. Well, I would like to say, one always had this longing to be able to travel somewhere, to see how conditions were with other people. But that wasn’t possible. That was not permitted. Because I worked for the railroad, I did have a chance once to travel to Hungary, but then I couldn’t do it because Papa was not well anymore. He couldn’t travel then. I was sixty and he was sixty-eight and we couldn’t do anything like that. You know how it was. It was sad.

During the last few years, it was hard. I had to lock the door when I went out, or he would have got out. That happened once when I was out for a visit, and I couldn’t let that happen. The doctor had told me that I had to lock the door when I went out. I had to be careful.

One time something happened. It wasn’t a laughing matter, but now I can smile about it. Some mornings he would get up early in his nightshirt, or whatever he had on, go out into the living room, put on his shoes, put on his suit, and comb his hair. “I have to go to work,” he would say. You know, then I had to bring him back in and tell him that he was retired now, that he didn’t have to go to work anymore, and that I would like to go back to sleep. It would be about four or five in the morning. It was not easy.

G. Davis: And what were you able to do in the Church during all this time?

Käthe: Well, the same thing as all the others, Relief Society work or whatever. To be honest, I couldn’t do much because I had my hands full taking care of my husband. There was always something. I could never be totally at ease. I was always thinking, “Now I hope nothing happens; now I hope everything is all right.” I always had this worrying feeling. I will say that I am very thankful that my husband lived to be seventy-six, but if I had not been very attentive, I don’t believe he would have lived so long.

I wanted to bring him to church as long as he could walk. But even then I had to bathe him, shave him, comb his hair, everything. He couldn’t do anything for himself anymore. I always said that as long as he could walk a little I would bring him. And that’s what we did. When he couldn’t walk anymore, I said it was no use. Then it was too hard.

We went to the temple for several years; I don’t know how many now. One of the workers said, “Sister Wöhe, we can’t do this anymore. We can’t keep everyone waiting because we have to dress him and do everything for him and that holds everyone up.” But President Burkhardt said, “Sister Wöhe, it doesn’t matter that we all have to wait. As long as your husband can come to the temple, we will gladly work with him.” I always liked him, Brother Burkhardt. He is really a fine man. He sent Heinz a letter to congratulate him on being a member of the Church fifty years. I still have it.

I didn’t think badly of anyone. No one can understand who hasn’t been through such a thing as this, and I didn’t always tell everyone. That would have just made it harder if I had to tell everyone. I just couldn’t do it. I just had to help myself the best I could.

On July 15, 1989, our son did a wonderful thing for his father. He took him around to all the places where he had grown up—Meerane, Grüna, and Chemnitz. He was overjoyed and could hardly contain himself. At the end of the day, we went to the zoo in Chemnitz, which he enjoyed very much.

In September 1989, our daughter Edith and her family went West, which was very sad for us, but we understood. Twice our son made it possible for us to visit our daughter and her husband and family. The first time it was in Obernkirchen, and then we visited them in Stadthagen near Hannover, where the family is very active in the Church. My husband was able to enjoy this with me, but it was really too much for him, and unfortunately we couldn’t do that anymore. So our daughter Edith came over to see us for a few days on his birthday. She loved her father very much.

My husband had many intellectual interests. My daughter Edith is the same, and that is why she always had so much in common with her father. My husband loved music, and it moved him very much. We celebrated his seventy-sixth birthday on April 18, 1993, in our home, but it was such a strain on him that he had to lie down several times. A week later, our son took us and our little Paul on an excursion to the Oak Forest, which was hard for him. But he so enjoyed going to the forest by car. We walked for two hours. We used to do it on the streetcar—there, two hours walking, and then back on the streetcar, but we hadn’t been able to do that for a long time. Walking was getting harder and harder. We took some nice pictures to remember it by.

From the beginning of May 1993 until December 1993, my husband was bedridden. I took care of him as well as I could with help from the social welfare people. During that time, I could not attend church. Everyone understood, supported me, and told me that my husband was now my most important assignment. I did this gladly. I cared for him up to the last moment, and I am happy to have done that.

But I was so pleased last Christmas, Christmas 1993. Brother Ortlieb came to see him and talked with him and asked him if he would like him to sing to him. He loved music. He had two missionaries with him, and they sang and prepared the sacrament for him. Heinz put out his hand and said, “Thank you, Brother Ortlieb.” He was so happy. I was happy, too. Then Brother Spengemann came and said, “Brother Wöhe, can I read something to you?” He understood everything. I was right there, and he asked him if he understood, and he said, “Yes.” He sang for him too, and Heinz shook his hand. He could always feel it when there was someone here who was spiritually close to him. He could feel it. It made me so happy that a few brothers would come over and lighten the time for him.

But it was hard because he was going downhill. After I had bathed him for the weekend and spruced him up, I would say, “Come on, Heinz, things will get better.” But he would just shake his head. He knew.

Just before Christmas, I had to go out to buy a little wrapping paper because I didn’t have enough for the grandchildren’s presents, so I went down to the Stritzelmarkt. When I returned, I said to my husband, “Heinz, I found something pretty.” He looked at me, and I said to him, “Look at this little Christmas tree with the pretty colored lights and with the gold hangings. We can plug it in and put it by your bed. Would you like that?” “Yes,” he said. So I put a chair by his bed, made it a little higher, and lit the little Christmas tree every night.

About a week before it got very bad, my son Michael carried him out. He ate his supper in a chair, looked around, and talked a little. I said, “Maybe you can do this again, when we put up the Christmas tree.” But that day never came. He couldn’t get out of bed again. He was too weak.

G. Davis: But you never lost your faith.

Käthe: No, never. That would have been worst thing of all. No. We have had many wonderful blessings, and I know for sure—this is my testimony—that I will see my husband and be with him again.

Because of my work during the open house at the temple and because of the poor health of my husband, we were able to go through the temple right away, on July 27, 1985, and be sealed for time and for all eternity.

On January 2, 1994, my dear husband died as a consequence of his fifth lung infection. I worked as hard as I could for him and hope that my Father in Heaven will count it to my credit. I did whatever was possible to relieve his suffering. He wanted to die at home and was able to do that. I washed his body for the last time, and the bishop and my son dressed him in his temple clothing. He looked so handsome. The men at the funeral parlor said they had not seen a more handsome man for some time. That was a consolation to me.

We had a wonderful funeral. One could feel the good spirit. Because my husband liked music so much, I had “Ave Maria” played. Everything was so harmonious. So I am so thankful for everything and thankful that my Father in Heaven gave me the strength to overcome it all.

Now on Sunday I am at church and rejoice at the good spirit and the lessons which sustain me. I thank my Heavenly Father for all of his help during these last difficult times. My doctor confessed to me that if I had not expended so much energy for my husband over the years he would never have lived so long—from April 18, 1971, to January 2, 1994.

There are many things yet I could say, but now I want to close and express my thanks for everything that was so beautiful in our life together. The important thing is that we stay together as husband and wife and that we give our children a beautiful home with love and security.