The mind is a wonderful thing, and it’s strange the things people remember.
I remember...
…my mother telling me that once when her father was away and
came back unexpectedly to Ruhrort he got there late at night. They didn't believe it was him and wouldn’t let him in
because they were so afraid of the Bolsheviks. He had to find a place to sleep
until it was light again and they could see him. I am thinking that this must
have been in the years just after the turn of the 20th century. A
brief story, but somehow it stayed with me.
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