The house stood on a pretty, tree-lined street that ran along one of the many picturesque canals in Hamburg. My earliest memory is of moving into this house from the apartment that had been home until then. This was in 1930, and I had just turned 5. I had twin brothers, Gunther and Gerd aged 3, and my mother was quite pregnant with her fourth child, making this move necessary. For a long time she had been growing heavier, and I had started to ask many questions, and so she had explained to me all about the baby growing in her stomach, and my greatest thrill was to be able to feel her tummy when the baby moved. I could hardly wait for it to arrive.

Our new house was a typical northern European city house--a town house-- tall and narrow, whose walls adjoined the next house, except that on one side there was only the beautiful garden of a large estate. But our house had several modern innovations: a garage in the basement, something only one or two other houses on our block had, and a kitchen on the main floor instead of in the basement, wbere most kitchens were at that time. There was a small fenced-in front yard; some steps led up to the front door. Inside there was a large entrance hall, with a beautiful winding staircase to the upper floor, and a cloak room and powder room for guests on one side. There was a great living room, furnished with heavy, carved furniture. Besides the sofa and chairs, I especially remember the very large book cabinet, with glassed-in book shelves in the center, and cabinets on each side and below. There was also a massive matching desk on which my father often wrote and drew. A sliding door separated the living room from the equally large dining room that had a beautiful, big oval dining table in the center and many chairs. On one side was the buffet that held our silver and china, and at the end near the veranda was the great, black, beautiful concert piano covered with a wonderfully embroidered Chinese shawl. The floors in both rooms were covered with Oriental carpets. The pretty, glassed-in veranda adjoined the dining room and overlooked the garden, and this is where we had most of our meals. It also adjoined the kitchen and was a cheerful, sunny room full of plants and light. I remember many happy meals there, lively and full of fun, with us children chattering away, and my mother listening indulgently. But when my father had a meal with us we had to be quiet and behave.

Above the main floor were the bedrooms--my brothers slept in one; I had a pretty room to myself with a desk by the window, a sink in the corner, and my dollhouse (with furniture made by my grandfather) beside a bed and armoire, and my parents had the third room. Between the bedrooms was a bathroom, and there was also a large playroom for us on the same floor. This was a wonderful, large room, and the walls were covered with a special paper that could be washed, and so we could draw on it. At least that was the theory. But everyone tried to discourage us as it was hard work to get it clean again. However, once we had discovered this marvelous way of artistic expression, it was hard to stop us.

Above this floor were the maids' rooms and the guest room. In the basement was the laundry. Besides the funny, old washing machine, it had a bathtub in it, and doubled as the maids' bathroom (what maid would stand for that today! ) . And then there was another toilet, pantry, storerooms, and the furnace and the coal room. This part of the basement we did not like. It was dark and scary and we tried to stay away from it.

The street on which we lived was along the Eilbeck canal, and every day I walked to school along this pretty canal, lined with chestnut trees. There would be little parks with benches, usually filled with children and their nurses. There were always swans on the water, which we could feed and admire. Here and there would be a dock for the city boat to land and pick up passengers. I loved it.

One day day when I came home from school, the nurse told me that the day we had all been waiting for was finally here and that the baby was arriving. She took me to the nearby home of friends, where my little brothers were already playing. I remember this strange afternoon very well--playing with my brothers and friends, and yet waiting all the time for the message. It was exciting, but also a bit scary. And very mysterious.

Finally the phone call carne; the baby had arrived and we could come home. We ran down the street as fast as we could. The house had a happy atmosphere, but we were asked to be quiet. And then my father came down the stairs to get me, only me, because my brothers were too little. I felt so grownup and important. He took me to my parents' bedroom, which was filled with flowers, and there in bed was my mother, looking so happy and beautiful, and next to her a tiny little head, covered with black hair. I felt very shy and strange. It was such a wonderful, unforgettable moment.

That little baby, my brother Peter, changed our life a great deal. .In those days women had to stay in bed for three weeks after childbirth, whether they were in a hospital or at home, and so whenever we wanted to see our mother, she would be in bed. This rather upset us. And then our parents had hired a nurse to take care of the baby, and she was very unpleasant to us, and we hated her and missed our mother. And always the baby seemed to be crying and getting all the attention. It took quite a while before we too thought he was cute and certainly very fascinating.

My father- - I do not remember much from this early time . He worked long hours and came home after we were in bed, and so we rarely saw him. But on Sundays he was home, and that was always a very special day. We children would wait for the special family whistle in the morning, the signal that we could come to our parents' room, and we'd run over and jump into their big bed. We'd play and giggle and talk, and if I was lucky, my mother would tell me my favorite story--how she and Dad met.

My mother had studied law in Heidelberg, a very unusual thing for a girl to do in Germany in 1920. Her parents had let her go, because she went with a friend. They studied some, but enjoyed life and their freedom even more. Boys outnumbered girls about 10 to 1, and they had a marvelous time. In the European systems, as long as you passed your exams, it did not matter if you attended every class. It was your responsibility to get the information somehow. So the students had quite a bit of freedom. This was also the beginning of the terrible inflation in Germany, and the students constantly ran out of money, but did not want to ask their parents for more. So each food parcel from home was shared young, that too was part of the fun.

Eventually she had a serious romance with a young law student. He was younger than she, and after awhile they realized it was hopeless, because he still had years of study ahead of him, and could of course not marry her until he could support her. So, heartbroken, she returned home to Berlin, and shortly after this, her parents sent her to Hamburg to visit an aunt and recover. And there she met my father at a concert she attended with her aunt. My father immediately fell madly in love with her, and pursued her passionately. She was a very striking looking young woman, with light brown hair, heavy black eyebrows, beautiful green eyes, and a strong nose and mouth. He showered her with gifts and flowers, took her out every night, and before she left Hamburg for home, she had agreed to marry him. They bought their rings before she left, but did not dare to put them on yet, because my father had not yet formally asked her father for her hand.

In Berlin, there was great excitement, of course. Soon my father arrived to meet the family--her two sisters and her parents. At the grandparents home, my grandfather, Hans Gold, asked my father to join him in his study (a room we children were never allowed in, because it was furnished with antique Biedermeier furniture). And here my father asked his future father-in-law for his daughter's hand in marriage. And since he was a successful business man and came from a good family, my grandfather had no reason to object, and they were married in due time.

My mother had also told me that when Dad asked her to marry him, her answer was, "But I don't have any money," an answer that infuriated my father. But in those days it was very important for a girl to have a dowry, and she had grown up knowing that she would not. have one, and therefore might never get married.

Anyhow, this tale of their courtship was my absolutely favorite story, and I never grew tired of it.

The other wonderful thing that happened on Sundays was that my father would play the piano. The concert piano stood in one corner of the dining room. It was large and black and shiny, and I just loved it. When we were very small, he would place us all on top of the piano while he played, but when I got older, I loved to sing along with him all the wonderful old folk songs he would play. It is one of my happiest memories.

Peter was born in May, and soon it was warm and sunny enough, even in gloomy Hamburg, for us to play in our nice new garden. We always seemed to attract all the other children in the neighborhood, and invented endless games with them. The center part of our garden was gravel, perfect for playing, but when I got older, it was my job to rake it in neat rows from time to time (because I did it better than anyone else, my parents told me), and I was always very proud of my handiwork. There was a walnut tree and a wonderful cherry tree, and lots of lilacs and some flowers. We also had a gym set on which we practiced constantly. The baby would be out too in his carriage, and would be stared at and poked a bit, until he too was big enough to join us in our games.

The cherry tree was very special. It grew against a wall, and had one very low, long branch on which we children could climb. Not only could my brothers and I stand on the branch and look across the wall and into the large, beautiful and mysterious garden next door, but in the summer, when the tree was filled with big and luscious cherries, we could reach up and pick and gobble up those cherries to out hearts' content. These were the most delicious cherries in the world, and no cherries bought in a store ever tasted quite as good.

But even better than just eating the cherries was the spitting contest. My brothers and I, aged perhaps 6 and 7, would each grab a handful of cherries and run up to the kitchen, first making sure that my mother was not near. Then we would stand by the open window, which faced the garden and see who could spit the cherry pits the farthest! This took quite some skill and practice, and was the most wonderful fun. The bits of grime from our dirty, little hands seemed to add to the deliciousness of the cherries. But if our mother caught us at this game I things did not always end so happily.

Even today, when I see a bowlful of luscious, red cherries, it brings back the memory of those summers and those delicious cherries, and sometimes even the desire to see how far I can spit those pits.

The kitchen in our house was very large and overlooked the garden. It was the cooks domain, but we children were always welcome. There was a large table in the center, cabinets from floor to ceiling on one side, and cabinets under the windows. There was also a pantry outside the kitchen. On one side was a large, old stove, and in my earliest memory there was an icebox. I can barely remember the iceman bringing the ice several times a week. I can remember very well when we got our refrigerator. This was another great event, and that beautiful object stood in our pantry, and everyone who came to the house had to come and admire it. It was the cooks pride and joy.

I loved to watch the cook. She was my friend; always cheerful and nice; young, plain, and an expert. I remember her cleaning out the chickens. In those days, chickens came with their heads on and innards intact. I always feel grateful that we dont have to do this anywhere. Sometimes she would find an unlaid egg inside, which I always found quite marvelous. Fish would arrive at our house still alive, because I well remember the cook cutting it up after killing it, and that tail would sometimes still flop, which would usually send me running from the kitchen screaming.

We also had a funny old cleaning woman called Nona, who came to the house once a week. She had thin, wispy hair. Her stockings were always sagging, and she had a large brown spot on her neck which we children found fascinating. One day my mother asked her to put up some hooks in the hall on the second floor. She worked hard driving the nails into the wall, when suddenly a tremendous geyser of water came pouring out, along with the nail, and gushed all across the hall, the stairway, and against the opposite wall. She desperately tried to stem the flood while the fire department was called. Soon our house was filled with firemen who ran up the stairs and did various things to stop the flood. We children were completely thrilled and excited by this marvelous show, but poor Nona was not so happy. She had forced the nail right into the water pipe.

When I was about 7 years old, my father bought an Opel, a very popular German car, somewhat like a Ford. This really was unbelievably exciting, for in the mid-30s in Germany, hardly anyone owned a car. Finally we could use the garage in our house. All the kids in the neighborhood came to stare and envy us.. It was rather a small car, and not very beautiful, with a funny greenish color, but to us it was the most wonderful thing in the world. Now we went on outings to the country on weekends, and my father enjoyed it as much as we did. We four children would all sit in back, and wave at the few cars we met on the road. I would usually entertain the family by singing one song after the other, until we arrived at our destination. Sometimes my brothers would join me, but they did not have as large a repertoire as mine. In the countryside in Germany, there were little inns along the way where you could stop for a beer, coffee, or ice cream and, of course, cake. Coffee and cake in the afternoon was a must. No wonder most Germans looked so well-fed. But we would also walk in the woods, swim in the lakes, especially one located right near one of our favorite inns. And in the fall especially, we loved to take long walks in the woods and listen to the leaves rustling under our feet. To run through the leaves together and scatter them filled us with delight. It was a wonderfully happy childhood, and little did we children realize the ugly clouds that were gathering on the horizon.