Written by Åge Albertsen, eight years old in 1940
I was awakened by the sound of distant rumbling. When I looked out my window towards Rælingen I saw a huge airplane come in over Svelle. This sight is imprinted on my memory like a photograph, I can see the cross painted on the side of the plane. The swastika that was surely painted on the tail I didn't notice, and I remember saying to my mother who came running into the room: "That plane comes from Horten!" I had seen some pictures from the Navy base at Horten a few days prior, there was a picture of a plane that looked like this huge monster that was flying by my window just a few hundred yards away, but this one was just so much bigger. This was surely not a peaceful Norwegian plane, we could now see the black smoke over Lillestrøm and Kjeller and we knew that soemthing serious was happening.
There were some confusing moments for my mother and I, but suddenly the neighbor lady ripped open the door and screamed "Norway is at war."
What a way to start the day. The one day I am off school, but it looks as if the plans I have for the day are going to have to fall by the wayside. Everything is happening at once,everything is chaos. Thoughts and deeds suddenly become something other than what was planned. The radio is on and new reports with varying content are constantly arriving. But they all confirm one thing; Norway is at war for the first time in 150 years.
The Germans took over the broadcasts during the morning, after that what we got was the occupation force's reports. The questions the adults were concerned with now were of a more practical nature: What do we do now? My mother wondered, quite naturally , how my father, who was in Kongsberg, was, and how to get in touch with him. And my brother, who was in Oslo, what was the situation there? How was he? We children were also confused, should we start to play, or should we await the unfolding of events? There problems for young and old.
Translated by Steven Mohn, December 1999