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Traudl

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Öffnungszeiten Öffnungszeiten Daraus werden die einzigartigen Fleischlaberl mit ihrem knusprigen Mantel und flaumigen Kern, das hausgebeizte Surkaree, die würzige Blunze oder die Bratwürstel — begleitet von Sauerkraut oder Omas Erdäpfelsalat. Am Abend des Doch nicht mehr lange. gentsactieplatformpalestina.be: Kostenlose Lieferung und Rückgabe. Wiwaldi Und Co Charming Traudl Männer Premium T-Shirt. Jetzt bestellen! Gertraud „Traudl“ Junge (* März in München als Gertraud Humps; † Februar ebenda) war von 19neben Gerda Christian, Christa. Charming Traudl). Die Ideen zum Ablauf der Sendung hatten Martin Reinl, Paulus Vennebusch u. a. Gäste-/Episodenliste[Bearbeiten. Hier wird das gesamte Warenangebot Werklehrmittel von Traudl Riess KG für den gewerblichen Bedarf angeboten. 5 Fragen an Traudl Ullmann. 1. Was bringt die Arbeit im BLV? Freude, Kontakte, Überblick über bildungspolitische Themen, man sieht über den Tellerrand und.

In , Junge was in the Fuhrerbunker with Hitler. She typed Hitler's last will and testament. After that, she said that she heard Hitler shoot himself.

She left the Fuhrerbunker in May After the war, she was not well-known. However, she was in several shows that talked about Hitler. She was also in the movie Der Untergang , which was about the last days of Hitler in the Fuhrerbunker.

In the beginning and end of the movie, it shows an interview of her. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Traudl Junge. Munich , Bavaria , Germany.

You can help Wikipedia by adding to it. I saw Hitler slumped by the table. And I saw Eva with her knees drawn up lying next to him on the sofa — wearing a white and blue blouse, with a little collar: just a little thing.

Those left in the Führerbunker were undecided what to do next. Some men committed suicide whereas others armed themselves with the intention to fight the enemy troops.

Traudl Junge left the Führerbunker on 1st May, Junge later recalled: "It could be about eight-thirty in the evening.

We are to be the first group leaving the bunker We clamber over half-wrecked staircases, through holes in walls and rubble, always going further up and out.

At last the Wilhelmsplatz stretches ahead, shining in the moonlight. The dead horse still lies there on the paving stones, but only the remains of it now.

Hungry people have come out of the U-Bahn tunnels to slice off pieces of meat Soundlessly, we cross the square. Sporadic shots are fired, but the gunfire is stronger further away.

Then we have reached the U-Bahn tunnel outside the ruins of the Kaiserhof. We climb down and work our way on in the darkness, over the wounded and the homeless, past soldiers resting, until we reach Friedrichstrasse Station.

Here the tunnel ends and hell begins. We have to get through, and we succeed. The whole fighting group gets across the U-Bahn bend uninjured.

But an inferno breaks out behind us. Hundreds of snipers are shooting at those who follow us. Some of the group eventually reached an old beer cellar of a brewery now being used as a bunker.

Junge later moved on and according to Ernst-Gunther Schenck , on 2nd May "A Soviet negotiator followed by a Russian officer and four men. As they came through the entrance there were two loud reports inside the room.

Hewel had put a pistol to his temple and squeezed the trigger as he bit on a cyanide capsule. I went to him immediately: he was dead. I could see it at a glance.

The thought struck me at once that this was how Hitler had died and Hewel had copied him, biting on a cyanide capsule and shooting himself at the same instant.

I needed no second look. Traudl Junge remained free until being arrested in Berlin on 9th July. After being interrogated for the next five months she was released from prison.

She entered hospital in January suffering from diphtheria. After leaving hospital she was allowed to move to Munich where she worked as chief secretary of the editorial staff of the weekly illustrated magazine Quick.

In Junge wrote her account of working with Adolf Hitler : "At this period we were all looking to the future and trying - with remarkable success, incidentally - to repress and play down our past experiences.

I set about writing my memoirs objectively, trying to record the outstanding events and episodes of the immediate past before details that might later be of interest faded or were forgotten entirely I was fascinated by Adolf Hitler, thought him an agreeable employer, paternal and friendly, and deliberately ignored the warning voice inside me, although I heard it clearly enough.

Junge said in an interview in that it was the awareness of the activities and death of Sophie Scholl that she became aware of her feelings of guilt: "Of course the horrors, of which I heard in connection of the Nuremberg trials, the fate of the 6 million Jews, their killing and those of many others who represented different races and creeds, shocked me greatly, but at that time I could not see any connection between these things and my own past.

I was only happy that I had not personally been guilty of these things and that I had not been aware of the scale of these things.

And at that moment I really realised, that it was no excuse that I had been so young. I could perhaps have tried to find out about things.

Junge returned to her manuscript and added an introduction. How could I have been so naive and unthinking? I have never kept my past a secret, but the people around me made it very easy for me to repress the thought of it after the war: they said I had been too young and inexperienced to see through my boss, a man whose honourable facade hid a criminal lust for power Not until the middle of the s did I gradually and seriously begin to confront my past and my growing sense of guilt.

Over the last thirty-five years that confrontation has become an increasingly painful process: an exhausting attempt to understand myself and my motivation at the time.

I have learned to admit that in , when I was twenty-two and eager for adventure, I was fascinated by Adolf Hitler, thought him an agreeable employer, paternal and friendly, and deliberately ignored the warning voice inside me, although I heard it clearly enough.

I have learned to admit that I enjoyed working for him almost to the bitter end. After the revelation of his crimes, I shall always live with a sense that I must share the guilt.

Traudl Junge died of cancer in Munich , at the age of 81, on 10th February This book is neither a retrospective justification nor a self-indictment.

I do not want it to be read as a confession either. Instead, it is my attempt to be reconciled not so much to the world around me as to myself.

It does not ask my readers for understanding, but it will help them to understand. I was Hitler's secretary for two and a half years.

Apart from that my life has always been unspectacular. In I put down on paper my memories, then still very vivid, of the time I had spent close to Adolf Hitler.

At this period we were all looking to the future and trying - with remarkable success, incidentally - to repress and play down our past experiences.

I set about writing my memoirs objectively, trying to record the outstanding events and episodes of the immediate past before details that might later be of interest faded or were forgotten entirely.

When I read my manuscript again several decades later, I was horrified by my uncritical failure to distance myself from my subject at the time, and ashamed of it.

But that is only one of the reasons why, until now, I have been reluctant to let the manuscript be published in my own country. Another reason is that in view of the huge amount of literature about Adolf Hitler and his "Thousand-Year Reich", my own history and observations did not strike me as important enough for publication.

I also feared avid sensationalism and approval from the wrong quarters. I have never kept my past a secret, but the people around me made it very easy for me to repress the thought of it after the war: they said I had been too young and inexperienced to see through my boss, a man whose honourable facade hid a criminal lust for power.

By "they" I mean not just the denazification commission which exonerated me as a "youthful fellow traveller", but all the acquaintances with whom I discussed my experiences.

Some of them were people suspected of complicity with the Nazis themselves, but others were victims of persecution by the regime. I was only too ready to accept the excuses they made for me.

After all, I was only twenty-five years old when Nazi Germany fell, and more than anything else I wanted to get on with my life.

Traudl is five years old when her father leaves. Even before that he was not, admittedlv, the traditional father-figure, but on the few occasions when he did come home she found him a delightful companion and an inventive playmate.

She begins school in She goes to the Simultanschule in Munich's Luisenstrasse, an establishment which admits children of all religious persuasions, probably not so much as the result of any broad-minded attitude of her mother's as because it was close to her grandparents' apartment in Sophienstrasse, near the Old Botanical Garden.

Traudl was baptized an Evangelical, but has grown up without strong ties to the church and often plays truant from the Sunday children's services.

Traudl's grandfather Maximilian Zottmann, born in , rules over the five-roomed apartment in Sophienstrasse, which is quite a grand place.

She finds her grandfather a stern and pedantic autocrat who regulates the course of his day to the minute, thinks a great deal of discipline and order, and doesn't understand a joke.

He is no substitute for her father. He regularly tells her mother, "Kindly bring your brats up better", when Traudl and Inge laugh just a childish decibel too loud.

But little Traudi's world is still all right as long as her grandmother is alive. Agathe Zottmann makes peace between everyone in the apartment, and Traudl adores her.

Agathe is a native of Leipzig and met her husband when she was visiting the spa resort of Bad Reichenhall; Traudl later describes her grandmother as a very affectionate, understanding woman.

The little girl loves to hear Agathe's stories of Leipzig in her young days, and when Traudl has to write a composition at school on "My Dream Holiday" she chooses not Hawaii or the Himalayas like her school friends, but Leipzig.

Agathe dies in , and her loss hits eight-year-old Traudl hard. After his wife's death Traudl's grandfather becomes meaner with money and more of a domestic tyrant than ever.

He likes his new-found bachelor freedom and plays sugar daddy to a young dancer called Thea, and although his daughter is running his household he misses no opportunity to point out that she and the children are a financial burden on him.

In , when Traudl begins secondary school at the Luisenlyzeum for girls, her mother applies for reduced fees because she cannot pay the full amount out of her housekeeping money - only 4.

However, she does not feel that her childhood and early youth are unhappy. Difficult as their situation is for both mother and children, it brings the three of them closer together.

Hildegard Humps is not a particularly demonstrative woman - not the kind of mother you kiss and cuddle - but her children feel that she loves them and understands them.

She provides them with security. Her educational ideals are those of her time: they must grow up to be "decent people", truthful, helpful, honourable, modest and considerate, they must make allowances and they mustn't poke their noses into what is none of their business.

At this time Hitler had three secretaries. The youngest of them, Frau Christian, had now married and left her job with Ilitler. The other two, Fraulein Wolf and Fraulein Schroeder, had been his secretaries and constant companions for over ten years.

The big storerooms stocked with provisions by the household manager are emptied. There are scarcely enough takers for all the canned food, bottles of wine, champagne and schnapps, chocolate.

These things have lost their value. But everyone gets weapons from the leader of the escort commando. We women are each given a pistol too.

We are not to fire it, we are told, except in the utmost need. Then we get practical clothing. We have to go over to the camp at the very back of the bunker, on Vossstrasse.

It means passing through the operating theatre. I've never seen a dead body before, and I've always run away from the sight of blood. Now, empty-eyed, I see two dead soldiers in a terrible condition lying on stretchers.

Professor Haase doesn't even look up as we come in. Sweating and concentrating hard, he is working on a leg amputation. There are buckets full of blood and human limbs everywhere.

The saw grates as it works its way through bone. I see and hear nothing, the pictures don't penetrate my conscious mind.

Automatically, I let someone hand me a steel helmet, long trousers and a short jacket in the room next door, try on boots and go back to the other bunker.

The new clothes feel odd hanging on my body. Now the men arc in full marching gear too. Many of them have removed their epaulettes and decorations.

Captain Baur has taken the oil painting of Frederick the Great out of its frame and rolled it up. He wants it as a souvenir.

Hewel can't make up his mind what to do. He always was an indecisive character. Now he doesn't know where to die - should he take his poison or join our fighting group?

He decides on the latter, and so does Admiral Voss. I suddenly remember the children. There's no sign of Frau Goebbels. She has shut herself in her room.

Are the children still with her? Some girl from the kitchen, or maybe it was a chambermaid, had offered to take the six children out with her.

The Russians might not harm them. But I don't know if Frau Goebbels accepted this offer. We sit around and wait for evening.

Only Schadle, the wounded leader of the escort commando, has shot himself. Suddenly the door of the room occupied by the Goebbels family opens. A nurse and a man in a white coat are carrying out a huge, heavy crate.

A second crate follows. My heart stands still for a moment. I can't help thinking of the children. The size of the crate would be about right.

So my dulled heart can still feel something after all, and there's a huge lump in my throat. Krebs and Burgdorf stand up, smooth down their uniform tunics, and shake hands with everyone in farewell.

They are not leaving, they're going to shoot themselves here. Then they go out, parting from those who mean to wait longer. We must wait for darkness to fall.

Goebbels walks restlessly up and down, smoking, like a hotel proprietor waiting discreetly and in silence for the last guests to leave the bar.

He has stopped complaining and ranting. So the time has come. We all shake hands with him in farewell. He wishes me good luck, with a twisted smile. But I shake my head doubtfully.

We are completely surrounded by the enemy, and there are Russian tanks in the Potsdamer Platz One by one we leave these scenes of horror.

I pass Hitler's door for the last time. His plain grey overcoat is hanging from the iron coat-stand as usual, and above it I see his big cap with the golden national emblem on it and his pale suede gloves.

The dog's leash is dangling beside them. It looks like a gallows. I'd like to take the gloves as a memento, or at least one of them.

But my outstretched hand falls again, I don't know why. My silver fox coat is hanging in the wardrobe in Eva's room. Its lining bears the golden monogram E.

I don't need it now, I don't need anything but the pistol and the poison. So we go over to the big coal-cellar of the New Reich Chancellery.

Otto Günsche leads us through the crowds; his broad shoulders forcing a way for us four women Frau Christian, Fraulein Kruger, Fraulein Manziarly and me through the soldiers waiting here ready to march.

We nod to each other. Most of them I've never seen again. Then we wait in our bunker room to be fetched.

We have all destroyed our papers. I take no money with me, no provisions, no clothes, just a great many cigarettes and a few pictures I can't part with.

The other women pack small bags. They are going to try to find their way out through this hell too. Only the nurses stay behind.

It could be about eight-thirty in the evening. We are to be the first group leaving the bunker. A few soldiers I don't know from the guards battalion, we four women, Otto Günsche, Mohnke, Hewel and Admiral Voss make our way through the many waiting people and go down underground passages.

For hours we crawl through cavernous cellars, burning buildings, strange, dark streets! Somewhere in an abandoned cellar we rest and sleep for a couple of hours.

Then we go on, until Russian tanks bar our way. None of us has a heavy weapon. We are carrying nothing but pistols.

So the night passes, and in the morning it is quiet. The gunfire has stopped. We still haven't seen any Russian soldiers.

Finally we end up in the old beer cellar of a brewery now being used as a bunker. This is our last stop. There are Russian tanks out here, and it's full daylight.

We still get into the bunker unseen. Down there Mohnke and Günsche sit in a corner and begin to write. Hewel lies on one of the plank beds, stares at the ceiling and says nothing.

He doesn't want to go on. Two soldiers bring in the wounded Rattenhuber. He has taken a shot in the leg, he is feverish and hallucinating. A doctor treats him and puts him on a camp bed.

Rattenhuber gets out his pistol, takes off the safety catch and puts it down beside him. A general comes into the bunker, finds the defending commander Mohnke and speaks to him.

We discover that we are in the last bastion of resistance in the capital of the Reich. The Russians have now surrounded the brewery and are calling on everyone to surrender.

Mohnke writes a last report. There is still an hour to go. The rest of us sit there smoking. Suddenly he raises his head, looks at us women and says, "You must help us now.

We're all wearing uniform, none of us will get out of here. But you can try to get through, make your way to Donitz and give him this last report.

I don't want to go on any more, but Frau Christian and the other two urge me to; they shake me until I finally follow them. We leave our steel helmets and pistols there.

We take our military jackets off too. Then we shake hands with the men and go.

Traudl - Inhaltsverzeichnis

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Traudl Inhaltsverzeichnis

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