Here my father remembers the final days before liberation. My grandfather had climbed into one of the crowded bunks, and he had given up. He refused to move, even to get his daily ration of watery soup and a piece of bread. He weighed less then sixty pounds. My father had seen so many people die in the slave labour camp, and he knew this was what dying men looked like. At that time, my father was a teenager, 17 years old. He had just received the ration of soup and bread which he was going to take to his father when the news went through the camp - Dachau had been liberated. He remembers the jeeps with the white star - Americans. He went to his father there in the bunk, gave him the cup of soup and told him the news: “the Americans are here. We are free!” His father answered “that's good. Have you brought the bread?” And a short time later, my grandfather found the strength to get out of the bunk and come outside. Together, they had survived. My brother and his son. They are about the same age now as my grandfather and father were when they were in this place. Talking with other survivors.