We stayed in a big hall, where , apparently, which I didn't notice, there were hardboard mats moving with flice. Mum said: "I wish we would leave this place as soon as possible." But there was no knowing where to: either to Auschwitz or to be shot down, or somewhere else. And my father's letter came in handy again. We were walking and mum was holding the letter from Oflag in her hand, written on such characteristic notepaper.
So there was segregation and your mother took out the letter while you were waiting.
She did. And every German that would come, would literally salute and go away.