Explaining the Context and Exploring Ernst's roots, July 7, 2010

By Vyvyan: With centuries of occupation by Germany, Denmark, Sweden and Poland, Estonia achieved independence from Russia with the signing of the Tartu Peace Treaty in 1919, at the end of the First World War. The country enjoyed a brief period of economic growth and increase in achievement of secondary education. On the political front however, there was fear of communist subversion and the emergence of authoritarian rule. Estonia’s fate was sealed when Nazi Germany and the USSR negotiated a secret pact in 1939 that divided Eastern Europe into Soviet and German spheres of influence. Estonia declared itself neutral, but was forced to sign a pact with Russia. Thousands of Russian soldiers arrived in Esto, along with military naval and air bases. Tens of thousand were conscripted and sent not to fight, but to work (and usually die) in Siberia. Thousands, including women and children were sent to gulags (horrific work camps aka concentration camps without the gas chambers.) When Germany occupied Esto, about 55,000 Estonians were conscripted into the German Army. Towards the end of the war, teens as young as 16 (the cousins that would accompany dad and his family) and men as old at 50 (including my grandpa, Albert Ounpuu) were included in the draft. The Nazis retreated in September 1944. With neither German nor another period of Russian occupation presenting a viable future, thousands of Estonian families devised plans to flee to Sweden and Finland. This history sets the stage for our dad’s story.

August 16, 1944 - Setting the Stage
Albert returned from the German army training camp in Mustjala on an overnight leave before being deployed on the front in Narva near the Russian border in eastern Estonia. Albert believed that if he went to Narva he would not return alive. He was granted the leave upon his request to catch fish for his family to eat while he was away. The Germans had confiscated all personal boats but allowed them out occasionally on request. His secret plan, known only to Hilda and Albert’s mother Maria (who was living with them at Kitu, the farm) was to escape Estonia that night via the sea.
The trip was approximately 150 km, or 90 miles across the wide open Baltic Sea. Albert had been sinking his gasoline rations in metal drums off of a rock outcropping in the middle of Kudema Laht (a bay) about a mile from their farm.
Albert left to allegedly head out to sea to fish. Actually he raised his sunken gasoline stores, and then feigned motor problems to not make any noise and rowed in to a small island in the bay. There he met the family.
Hilda (41), Erna (16), Ernst (12), Uuno (9) gathered under the pear tree at 9:30pm to say good-bye to Vana Ema Maria. Ernst was wearing his new wool suit…the first pair of long pants he had ever owned. Other than the clothes they wore, they took a smoked ham, fresh water, and a bottle of whisky that Albert planned to drink to celebrate his 48th birthday when the landed in Sweden on August 18. They also had a compass and the map of Eastern Europe torn out of Ernst’s 2nd grade school book. There were also 3 teenage cousins of dad who had also been drafted, including one who was to be navigator. He was stopped by a German patrol and sent home under the mandated curfew. He did not make it to the beach at their designated meeting time and was left behind. The family walked the mile from the farm through the woods to the beach and rowed out into the bay in Ernst’s small sailing boat. Lucky for them it was an overcast night; the glow of the midnight sun did not illuminate them to the border guards.
As they headed out, the wind and surf picked up, and it started to rain. It was a mixed blessing as the storm provided cover but it made it virtually impossible to navigate. Figuratively speaking, the stars were aligned that night; after about 36 hours at sea the family landed on a tiny island, Sandon, about 3/5 of the way to Sweden. It had a staffed lighthouse, located about 50km off the coast of Sweden. The odds of hitting the island in the huge sea were miniscule; the wind from the northeast was working against their small motor's effort to take them north to Sweden's shores. Albert arrived with gasoline burns on his hands and legs from trying to pour the gas from the large storage container into the fuel tank in the rough sea. The rest had spent the night bailing the boat as they were continuously swamped, but were unhurt. Albert’s celebratory whisky bottle had broken from the rough action of the boat.
A few days later when the provision boat arrived, they were taken from the island and processed in a refugee camp in Gotland and then to Stockholm. Their belongings were burned and they were issued new clothes. The Swedes assigned them to refugee housing. The Ounpuus lived in Sweden for 5 years where Dad and his siblings attended school and Albert and Hilda worked to save money.
They had thought that the Americans and the allied forces were going to free Estonia, but instead an agreement was signed and Estonia became part of the Soviet Union. Sweden was too close to the enemy and they feared forced return to the Soviet repression they knew. Their goal became saving enough money for passage to Canada.
Dad’s older brother Edgar was of draft age in 1944, and had fled first to Sweden and then to Canada, a few months ahead of his family in both cases. His escape story is very similar.
The extended family we met in Esto all lived/were born under Communist rule for 50 years until 1991. For about 30 of those years there was almost no contact allowed through the Iron Curtain; those who got out did not know the fate of loved ones left behind. One relation said to me that 'It was the smart ones that got out in 1944.' I think it was a combination of smarts, creativity and lots of luck. Though they did not live in a democracy until recently and have not had as many material things and have had to live in conditions we consider primitive, there seemed to be lots of happiness and love.

Exploring Dad's Homestead in the village of Vohma, Saaremaa.
The drive from Kuressaare to Vohma is 37 km north along a mostly paved two lane country road. The island is very sparsely populated outside of Kuressaare with small farmhouses made of cinderblock with corrugated steel roofs.

Our first stop of the morning was at Mustjala church, where Dad was christened. The Ounpuu family traveled the 7km to the church from Vohma only for special occasions. The church sat among wildflowers, lots of clover and big trees, a very pretty setting. The doors were locked so we could not get inside; through the keyhole the church looked lovely. The town consisted of a community hall, a store (with lots of Colgate product), a school house and maybe a half dozen homes. Also, key to every town is a Kiik, or town swing. Apparently there are now world championships in 'Kiiking' where you go 360 degrees around the top bar.

Our next stop was the Mustjala cemetery. Set in the woods like others we've seen in Esto, we were able to visit the burial sites of dad's brother Uuno, Mikael Ounpuu (dad's grandfather), Ado and Maria Heinmets (Hilda Ounpuu's parents), and many other parents of Toronto Esto friends. Uuno's request was to have his ashes returned to his home (he died in Toronto in 1996.)
Our next stop was Dad's farm in Vohma, a tiny 'town' of maybe 200 people.

Photo: Kitu Ernst meets Kitu Milvi (current land owner) who knew Ernst as a child and whose mother recalls seeing Albert Ounpuu walking to his fishing boat the night of their escape.


Photo: barn building that Ernst built with his dad in 1942 - including making these bricks. They hid a shot gun under the eave, punishable by banishment to Siberia.





Photo: Sylvia, Ernst, Vyvyan and Stephanie under pear tree (same one) which was departure point of family at the farm.






We were hosted at the Ounpuu farm, Kitu, by the current owner, her daughter and grand daughter Triin. The well from Dad's time was still there, as was the barn. A new house had been built onthe foundation of the original. The birch and pear trees that dad remembered were bigger, but still standing. The big rock at the end of the drive had not changed.

It was surreal and moving to share this visit with Dad, to see where he grew up and how his family lived before the war changed everything. I will never forget the excitement and emotion in Dad as one memory after another was uncovered.

Our next stop was Vohma's elementary school. The librarian/historian pulled out an old photo album in which we found a photo of dad from grade 1 class of 1939-40, the youngest photo of him we've ever seen. We also found photos of his sister Erna and brother Edgar and several friends. Very cool. Dad attended the school for 2 or 3 years before the war when German sodiers took over the building to use as a barracks.

We also visited Panga Pank, (Pank =cliff, so the cliffs at Panga), the highest point on the island of Saarema and the beach where Grandpa's fishing boat was launched on the night of their escape. On a beautiful day the surf was rough and the sea stretched to the horizon; it was hard to comprehend heading out from there with my family at night in a storm in a tiny boat with the goal of landing on the other side.