This year marks 80 years since the end of World War II. And once again, Europe is facing an epochal change in the geopolitical world order. ‘Those who do not remember their past are doomed to repeat it,’ warns Spanish philosopher George Santayana. This article invites you to remember the war years of 1944 and 1945 in Vienna, Austria – and what they meant for the microcosm of the hospital where the SSpS worked.
In the first years of the war, the orthopaedic hospital run by the Sisters was rededicated as a war hospital. More and more staff members were needed to care for the wounded. Sisters from Steyl kept reinforcing the community. In 1943, there were 102 sisters. The chronicler writes:
‘Our military hospital has 500 beds, which are almost always occupied. Only severely wounded soldiers are admitted, and only amputees. A large number are double amputees: amputation of both legs or arms or one leg and one arm. We have also had many patients with amputations of both legs and an arm and blind on top of it. The cruelty of the war is right under our eyes.’
From August 1944, the war front drew closer and Vienna came under fire. Sisters and patients had to seek shelter in the cellar more and more often. The wounded soldiers complained: ‘In the cellar, it’s like being trapped in a mouse trap. On the front line, we were face to face with the enemy but could still escape’.
Bombed out
8 February 1945 brought the fatal turning point. The chronicle reports: ‘It was another beautiful winter’s day. The sun was shining warmly and peacefully and gave us no hint of impending disaster. At around 1.20 p.m., we received a report that heavy combat units had flown off from the city centre in our direction. We could already hear the humming of the engines, a rattling, a hissing, closer and closer – now a crashing, clanging, the floor shaking, walls trembling, doors flying open, impenetrable darkness – we had been hit. The loud prayers stopped, eerie silence all around. But we didn’t have time to think about it: minutes later the same rattling and crashing, the second impact. The vault was still holding. Where had the bombs hit? That was the question on everyone’s mind. Slowly the sisters rose to their feet. We heard no moaning, meaning there were no casualties. Then – for the third time – the terrible hissing and roaring. Loud cries of supplication to Our Lady of Fatima. Another impact, more terrible, more devastating than the first. Seconds of profound silence, in which each of us made herself ready for God’s holy will, despite palpitations and convulsive fear.’
Miraculously, no one was seriously injured. But the hospital was destroyed and the patients had to be transferred to other military hospitals. The chronicler records the misery, but also an anecdote: ‘It was difficult for the patients to say goodbye; some were unable to speak because they were overcome with emotion. It was a difficult transport for the many patients who had just undergone surgery with their complicated bandages and painful extensions. Until 10 p.m., the patients were prepared in the corridor by candlelight and then carried away. As it was very cold, many of the wounded on the stretcher had pulled their coats over their heads. As there was no shortage of curious people standing outside, the rumour spread that 200 dead had been taken from the hospital.’
Move to the “Hofburg”
The Sisters too wondered anxiously: Where to go now? Fortunately, the Hofburg [former royal palace] became available. However, the nurses were not enthusiastic because the rooms were completely unsuitable for a hospital. ‘The work was overwhelming; more and more patients arrived because the front was drawing eerily closer and the air raids continued.’ By 10 a.m. each day, the patients were carried in the cellar and there were no lifts for the sick. The kitchen sisters performed true miracles; they cooked for 1700 people every day on coal cookers. Often, they worked all night through. The same was true for the staff in the operating theatre because in addition to the soldiers, more and more civilians were being emergency-operated. But the palace had one big advantage: ‘… the deep, safe cellars – and who didn’t long for them?’
Encounter with the Stranger
The Russian military took command of the Hofburg. This was a new experience for both the Sisters and the Russian soldiers. The chronicler writes: ‘Some marvelled at us like a wonder of the world; they had never seen Sisters before. It was a mystery to them that we weren’t married but were wearing a ring.’ The Sisters’ prejudices and fears melted away: ’They were good soldiers whom the good Lord had led to us. How much we had feared, how relieved we breathed a sigh of relief.’
What happened next
On 15 April, the Hofburg was shelled by the German army for the last time. But the years after the war remained tough. Everything was lacking
The Sisters longed to finally leave the Hofburg and move the hospital to suitable premises. This dream came true only in 1956 when the Orthopaedic Hospital, which has always enjoyed an excellent reputation, moved to where it is today. While it is no longer owned by our Sisters, a small community is there, providing pastoral care and some small services. The presence of the Sisters is much appreciated by staff and patients: they carry in them the same spirit of love and service that moved the earlier Sisters to carry on even in the most difficult circumstances.
Sr. Ana Damas, SSpS – Rome
