We abandoned all possessions and belongings. Ties with relatives were severed and for some, these contacts were cut permanently.
A few months shy of my fourth birthday, my memories of leaving were sketchy, but many of the gaps were filled by family stories over the years. My father took me on the pillow-padded handlebars of his bicycle to the boat, hidden in reeds on a beach some seven kilometres away. My mother and grandmother took the family horse and wagon to bring along winter clothes, blankets, etc. Our relatives arrived similarly.
Years later when mail reinstated, we were told that our dog ‘Trulla’ who had run alongside the bicycle to the boat, returned to Käina one day later. The horse took two days.
A few square metres apportioned to us at Saltsjöbaden became our only home.
Arriving in Sweden on a small steamer that had saved us from capsizing in the storm, we were interred in the Saltsjöbaden high school. My grandmother, parents and I were allotted a tiny unit in the school gymnasium. Blankets hanging from ropes criss-crossing over the large gym floor formed our ‘room’.
