is the memoir of a World War II German army nurse. Sent on a secret mission to Poland, she hones her infectious disease nursing skills at a hospital in a fort. Her next assignment on a hospital train based in Konigsberg takes her to the Russian Front many times. She is an eyewitness to battles, casualties and destruction. In poignant scenes, Tabea visits soldiers in the bunkers at the Front and feeds hungry Russian peasant children. A God-fearing woman whose convictions lead her to confront the Nazis, Tabea faces a court martial. She falls in love and her love story is one of tenderness and heartache when her beloved Dr. Beckman is transferred. She is sent back to Germany near the end of the war and converts a hotel into a hospital. There are dramatic scenes when her area is surrendered to the Americans, who feed them and give them much needed penicillin. Tabea is devastated that Germany is divided. When her sector is given to the Russians, chaos and rape replace compassion and kindness. She must decide to go west or stay in the east. She goes west with the Americans and her patients. After the war she is a head nurse at a center for women with venereal diseases, who were infected by soldiers. When a Nazi doctor takes charge, some ampules of penicillin turn up missing. Tabea reports this, and the doctor fires her. Suddenly she finds herself without a job, without her family, without Dr. Beckman and without hope. In an unbelievable encounter, her inspirational story ends on a hopeful note.
Betty J. Iverson feels strongly that World War II was the event of the 20th century and we must write the stories which will preserve the history of that era before the people slip away. She met Tabea Springer in Marina, California and realized hers was a unique story and agreed to write her memoir. After the first draft, Tabea told her, "Now I like my story."
Betty is a skilled interviewer and often her specific questions opened the floodgates of Tabea’s memory and incredible events spilled out. Betty has researched and conducted many interviews to write this book. She has continued this process in writing her second book, A TIME TO FLEE. (Unseen Women of Courage)
Betty is a nurse case manager with a B.S. from California State University at Hayward. She has had poetry and health articles published in the Monterey Peninsula Herald and has taken writing courses through the years. Writing is her first love. She feels privileged to be entrusted with Tabea’s Story as well as those of the other women. She is active in her community and counts European immigrants among her many friends. She is a member of the California Writers Club, Mt. Diablo Branch.
. . . exposing the bones. We prepared her for surgery, and Dr. Beckman began the amputations. Meanwhile, the paramedics moved swiftly to board the other patients because of the bitter cold weather and danger of imminent bombing.
After the surgery was completed, I placed the nurse in my compartment, and assigned Liesel to stay with her. The young nurse’s face was lined with pain and fatigue, and although she must have felt every jostle of the train, she never cried out. When Dr. Beckman came in to check on her, she smiled weakly and murmured, "Thank you for saving my life."
Dr. Beckman grasped her hand and squeezed it.. Then he removed the iron cross from his uniform and pinned it on her shirt. "You are more deserving of this medal than me. I commend you for your bravery and willingness to serve the Fatherland amid the dangers at the Front." She left the train along with the other patients at Riga and from there was sent to her Mother-House at Marburg. I often thought about her."
NOVEMBER 22nd We were heading north toward Dno, when a furious blizzard struck. The heavy snow clogged the chimney of the engine and smothered the fire. The engine lost power and could not move. Within minutes, the train became so cold that we had to wrap ourselves in blankets and walk about to keep from freezing. The wind howled outside, and I watched as snowflakes froze on the cars, coating the train with a white frosting.
Working furiously, the engineers dug the engine out, cleared the chimney and started a fire again. Although the train began to warm inside . . .
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. . . eulogy for a man who was a total stranger to him. We nurses were struck by the pathos of this situation and began attending the funerals at the cemetery. Soon we formed a group to six to sing hymns. If the funeral was held in a chapel, I accompanied them on the organ. We all felt it was important that these men have at least a simple service to mark their passing.
Week after week as I watched these men being buried with so little honor when they had given their lives for the Fatherland, I became outraged. One day I decided to do something about the situation and went to the Nazi commander’s office and asked to speak to the Kreisleiter in charge of our section. The Kreisleiter received me very cooly, but I ignored his lack of interest and asked boldly, "Why don’t you attend our soldiers’ funerals? After all, they died for the Third Reich and are deserving of some recognition. Perhaps the Hitler Youth could be there as an honor guard."
He shuffled through papers on his deck in a bored manner, and did not look up as he muttered, "I have nothing to do with the army. Anyway, there is no order from Berlin about any speeches in graveyards."
"Well," I snapped angrily, "I hope for your sake there won’t be any such order from Berlin soon!"
He stood up, his face flushed and shouted, "I’m going to have you arrested!"
I glared back at him and shouted just as loud, "You just told me that you have nothing to do with the army. Keep it that way!" I stormed out of his office, not looking back.
