MEMOIRS OF SIEGFRIED WERNER MARTIN TERNOW
English Translation (pages 1-32)
My childhood
How far, how far, how far away everything lies in the retrospective view of my existence. - Childhood memories that become visible once again in these lines, and like fleeting rays, light up before the inner eye. The sunny days of youth in a parental home with two brothers, of whom I was the youngest. –
I was one year old when my mother, as a widow, moved from the big city of Berlin to Silesia to her parents. Berlin was not the right place for us children to grow up without a father. And so I owe so much to this small town of Gnadenberg, a settlement of the Moravian Church*1, where the first years of a carefree youth took place in happiness, freedom, and a healthy environment. The first memories are anchored here, where the consciousness of a young human life began to form.
Gnadenberg Number 16, a two-story apartment building with four families and two small attic apartments under the roof, was a lively house. Up to the gutter, the south and east sides were covered with vines. The old weathered oak wooden door was usually wide open. We children ran, who knows how many times during the day, over the white-washed worn sandstone corridor, in and out, and up and down the stairs. On the second floor, down on the right, was our modest apartment, plain and simple, with a kitchen, a "good living room," and a bed-sitting room; a refuge where a dear mother cared for her three "heroes." –
What do I know about my father? Only what my mother told me about him and the fleeting years of a happy marriage during their short time together. So today, I may say: "My father was a wanderer, and it is in my blood too!" - Never stopping, never resting. At 33, his short life ended, and his parents and grandparents have records of some of it. Mother remained a widow. She alone bore the responsibility of our upbringing, which was not always easy, but above all, I owe her one thing: her Christian example, which has remained a faithful guide throughout my life. –
In "Rixdorf" - today Neukölln, Berlin - on the Hasenheide, grandfather Ternow had his blacksmith's shop as a respected citizen and master and head of an old guild. Father was the youngest of 6 siblings. He attended secondary school, was one of the best students, then started his apprenticeship in business administration. – The house with the old hardware store "Schmid & Co." where he trains, still existed for many years. My favorite aunt lived next door, high up on the 3rd floor. Countless times in later years, I would run upstairs to her during visits to Berlin, and she told me a lot about him.
Mother and father had gotten to know each other in the Christian youth movement. It was the "revival period" in the second half of the 19th century. A blessed period that mother often spoke of. Father became one of the founders of the C.V.J.M. *2 in the Friedrichstr., where he worked with his friends Eberhard von Rothkirch, Paul Le Seur, and other faithful co-workers, contributing to his further spiritual growth as a Christian. - Mother and father were the same age, born in 1877 (Father was born April 9, 1877; Mother on October 18, 1877). They were married on April 18, 1903. Father's professional activities had been quite varied in his later years. But very soon, richer in accumulated experience, he found a good job as the first authorized signatory at Anelier Farben AG, which was in the early years of the beginning of the "BAYER consortium" - Today the largest chemical plant in Germany. Unfortunately, his job there lasted only a few years. An illness gnawed at his health. The unfavorable conditions in these chemical plants at that time, toxic gases and air pollution did not help to improve his condition. Too little attention was paid to these health-damaging influences or to improvements. The damage to health was recognized too late.
Despite some longer recreation and health trips to Davos, Switzerland, the Black Forest, southern Germany, and the North Sea island of Borkum, the desired improvements were only ever short-lived. In the few years of his happy marriage, it remained a constant change from place to place—Berlin, then Köpenick and Eberswalde, where I first saw the light of day. Here, father had taken over the management of a Christian recreation home. Finally, a stay in Zemitz in Pomerania followed the newly acquired property of a "farmstead" with horses, cows, and pigs. Of all this, he had hardly any knowledge, and even less recovery was to be expected. God intended it differently with him. Also, in Zemitz he did not find what he expected, but he had unfortunately been advised to do this. Instead of getting better, his condition got worse. He came to Greifswald to the clinic, where he was released from severe lung disease and led home to the Lord, who had watched over his life. It was the hardest time for our dear mother, now all alone in the whole wide world.
The farmstead was dissolved and then sold. It had not been what father had imagined to begin with. A decision made too quickly, through wrong advice, that did not come to a good end.
Mother was now alone with her three boys, one of them still in diapers, a one-year-old. Where should she go? Back to Berlin? No - that was not for her and the children. Grandmother Lohde had moved back to her homeland, the province of Silesia, after her grandfather retired. In Gnadenberg near Bunzlau, she had found a quiet little place. And so mother followed with us children, where we grew up in a healthy rural environment.
Grandma and grandpa Lohde, the grandparents, lived not far from us in a small house at the "Schriemsteg" on the property of the mansion of the Sikenius family, Grindenberg #1; my first memories of my dear grandparents are connected to this place. They felt safe and secure in this quiet little place.
We boys loved to romp around in the courtyard by the fountain, under the shady branches of two mighty walnut trees. Grandfather was always active, and liked to occupy himself with all sorts of things, and whenever a small repair was needed, he was there to help. He preferred to stay in his open shed, his workshop, and to file on the bench vise when there was a lost key to be made again. He had learned the locksmith profession.
If there was nothing special that needed to be done, he disappeared early on a walk to the nearby forest to look for berries or mushrooms - the particularly tasty chanterelles. His walk through the next village, Klein Krauschen, led him past the "Schulzen", the local pub. Here he stopped for a bite to eat and a quick Schnapps or Korn*3! Grandma was not supposed to know! And indeed, probably never knew. Our friend and letter carrier told me about it years later, when grandfather was no longer with us. He followed the same route every day in the course of his duty and often met grandfather in the village tavern. Quite often, the "berry picking" was not a great success! - Grandmother was always surprised to find so few berries in the little bucket he would always place on the garden wall before entering the house from the street. –
Grandmother was a very energetic person. Yes, she knew what she was doing and had a strong influence on us children, and so many things stayed with me in vivid memory. – And there was a good reason why, after Grandpa's retirement, she moved away from Berlin, the big city, where so much happened with all the "shameful vices and temptations of mankind."
Grandfather was a "Prussian Royal Master Carriage Builder" with the National Railway. That was his title! Whenever my grandmother told me about him, it was this noble title alone that made me feel in awe of him: These "railway men" were all the same; it was on the occasion of the "quarterly pay" and other suitable occasions, when he went with his old colleagues to the tavern to have a drink! - No wonder that grandmother went to these "dens of vice" and gave them a piece of her mind, and her Wilhelm had to follow her home! But here, in the quiet Gnadenberg, was nothing to fear. She knew all about her Wilhelm. –
She had her little garden, a jewelry box with an ever-changing array of flowers, and under the pergola, the visitors were welcomed, and coffee was drunk. Grandpa took his afternoon nap on a soft, self-built couch. - Oh dear! If we disturbed him with our loud noise while playing games. The wide yard next to her garden was suitable for young and old. At the high carpet beating pole, the older kids practiced their first pull-ups diligently - up and down -the first physical education instructions began. Before I knew it, I was hanging high up, dangling from the pole; the oldest Sikenius boys, Rudolf and Otto, had their fun and let me dangle and scream, "I'm falling," until grandpa woke up from his nap!
On the 1st Christmas day, we were all allowed to come to the grandparents. Grandfather wore his good uniform with red laces and golden buttons to honor the day. How venerable and noble he appeared then, especially in the Christmas tree glow that seemed so huge to me and had many burning candles. And who doesn't remember the delicious enjoyment of the homemade gingerbread and pancakes, some of which would still appear much later from the corner of her kitchen cupboard when now and then an errand to be done - everybody wanted to go to her, and the quarrel among the three heroes, her "heartbeat, sunbeam, and ray of hope," as she called us when we were little - was always huge! She always had something extra for us, and that is when we appeared very well-behaved.
Grandfather was allowed to enjoy the time of his retirement for only a few years. A laryngeal disease gnawed at him and got worse from month to month; he had to suffer badly toward the end. Mother stayed with him a lot. Many nights she left us alone while she kept watch for several hours at his sick bed.
"Good night, dear mother," I can still hear us calling with one voice when she left the apartment late at night. The big key in the lock turned, and she hurried down the stairs. In those times, a "babysitter" was unheard of. We had to be nice and quiet, and well-behaved. - Unfortunately, this usually only lasted for a short time before a "war" began among us brothers. - Or, listen! - suddenly, a strange noise - caused fear and fright that transformed into a 3-voice concerto. Soon enough, it got too much on the nerves of the inhabitants of the house above and below us, and a broomstick started its knocking activity against the ceiling. - That meant: “Be quiet!" – But on the contrary, the shouting and yelling continued with uninhibited force. The criticism and complaints did not stop the following day. And then something happened: the first and last "babysitter" in the history of my childhood entered our apartment. Mother had found someone for us. An older maiden! A freshly made bed was also ready so that "Miss Krause" did not need to stay up all night, so she slept with us peacefully! With that, the disturbing "little night music" of the Ternow brothers found an end.
What followed, however, made mother even more uneasy, no, even instilled terror in her! - We were not allowed to have pets. That was contractually stipulated for us as tenants. But then, behold, one fine morning, Mother makes the beds fresh and what seemed unbelievable becomes a fact of life here, in the bed of Miss Krause! – Look, there the "flea mummy" goes - it was said from the next day on when we met Miss Krause on the other side of the street. She had earned this title rightfully. –
After my grandfather's death, grandma moved into a small attic apartment directly above us. Here she stayed until 1918 - still full of energy, despite her partially paralyzed left arm, which she treated herself. She never wanted to go to a doctor. It turned out that the tight quarters up there in the attic seemed unbearable to her. The urge to be busy and to work was still too strong in her. She needed something to do. She did not ask anybody and did what she thought was right and, with this, caused mother some inconvenience more than once. The natural urge in her for the country side and nature and everything that runs and crawls there, held her interest. Here in her Silesian homeland, this instinct came to full bloom once again. –
There, - a rabbit - it had mysteriously joined our "unauthorized pets". With red eyes! He was well looked after and got plenty to eat. Especially the juicy pieces of corn that were found along the sides of the road. Even grandmother was very interested in this little animal which grew up so fast! and after a few months developed into a splendid specimen. - What happened there one day? I discovered a white woolly nest in a corner of the barn and inside, - four tiny little pink bunnies! - A miracle; inexplicable before my eyes! - How had this happy family come about? - Grandmother was silent - but in her wrinkled face - as always, something was written! She didn't tell us anything, - but that is what told me everything. Grandmother had once again taken the reins firmly into her hands and with this also the management of the rabbit breeding according to her will. Another surprise followed when one day I found a charming little "kid” in her part of the woodshed. And with this, a new task was given to us boys; the task was called "find food for the kid"! Oh dear!
My first school days
In my first year at school in Krauschen with Miss Keil, I soon learned to obey orders and to put the recalcitrant child’s spirit into its ordered limits. "God greets you!” This greeting resounded collectively whenever Miss Keil entered the classroom. The first year of school, which was not preceded by kindergarten, lasted two hours. The first lesson remained assigned to religious education for years. Then followed reading and writing and multiplication tables. This was of course difficult for the little beginner to understand. I learned the truth of the saying: "All beginnings are hard". It took some time until the little, headstrong head was able to switch from playing to short hours of duty and attention. The knapsack with the shiny "leopard skin" was my pride and joy, as well as the slate with the wet sponge and small piece of cloth, and the beautiful pencil box.
Later the reading primer (book) and a calculus book were added. Lead pencil and paper remained foreign objects for the time being and existed only for big children who could already do everything. The slate, with the lines on one side and the many little squares for numbers and arithmetic on the other, remained the basis for the first two years for the written tasks in the classroom, as well as for the daily homework, which had to be done neatly.
Memorization, sayings, a verse from the Protestant hymnal every day, and the beautiful folk songs of our old poets, like so many other things - it was memorized and built up to form a lasting treasure for the rest of life. Order, cleanliness, and punctuality were part of the discipline that was subject to good training. I had to hold out my hands, make sure my fingers and nails were clean, the "slate pen" was sharp, the slate was good and orderly, and sitting straight as a candle, which was not easy for many a little rascal. All this belonged in the first place to a good education.
The first grades were awaited with trepidation. Very soon, after a few months, something new happened - everyone was given their special place to sit. Far back, from right to left in the first row, the children who learned everything well were allowed to sit. How pleased and surprised I was to be one in the first row. Even if I was not one of the very best, there was no danger of slipping into one of the front rows, where those were now sitting who seldom knew a verse by heart when they were supposed to recite something. By Easter the grades were decided. Those who were completely lazy, because they had not learned anything, were not transferred to the next grade and had to remain in 1st grade for another year. Never and never would I have put up with such things.
The First World War
August 14, 1914
For the last weeks we had midsummer weather as it could not have been nicer, interrupted from time to time by a thunderstorm and a heavy downpour that let everything breathe again after the oppressive sultriness. Also today promised to be sunny and hot.
Yes, a sultriness had been lying over everything that was going on on the political horizon for several weeks. Why would I, with my 6 years, care what the people out there talked about and what was in the newspaper. – Running outside, playing in the streets, what did I care about all that gloomy talk.
I was outside, in front of the house, with my friend Gerhard, running around, having fun as usual. We knew everyone who passed by, everybody was greeted politely. - If something happened out of line, i.e. a strange carriage came around the corner, or the gas lamps on the other side were readjusted, I was on the spot, hanging around. This morning, Mr. Pfantz stood on the corner and attached a public announcement to the telegraph pole. Something unusual! Men from the neighborhood came to him and excitedly they discussed "war"; I heard them saying again and again "mobilization". What was the meaning of all this! "General mobilization!" - whatever it meant: it had to be something terrible. I ran home and told mother what I had heard and seen. Mother was momentarily speechless - unbelievable, - should it really be true? No one wanted to believe it.
For me, this excitement among people was something completely new, but in the course of the events, I would soon learn to understand the meaning of "war" in my little head. There was something happening here! The next day it was said that a number of young men would have to report for duty. Among them was the father of my friend Wolfgang in the neighboring house. I often saw him in the big, park-like garden where I loved to romp around. He liked to joke with us; so also the following afternoon: "Come here boys, here are the spurs for my boots, clean them as good as you can!” It was half competition, half game, who would finish first. The next morning, Captain Riedel of the Reserve said goodbye to his loved ones and moved to his regiment. For his children it was to be a farewell forever. –
These were the days of mobilization, August 14, 1914. Although I did not yet understand much of what happened during my childhood, there were still events that took root in the young mind.
Much suffering happened very soon and in short intervals in the following months. There was hardly any family that was spared from horror, suffering and grief entering their home. Here and there, in the close circle of acquaintances, the neighbors, it did not stay away. How many young boys had enthusiastically volunteered: "to fight for the fatherland!". –
Next door lived the widow Hoffmann. She had three boys, all already of conscript age. Mother was a friend of hers. The eldest, her Hermann, was engaged, he fell in the East. The second also died in Russia, and the youngest, they said, was missing. - How much suffering could a widow endure? And so hardly any family was spared. I can still see mother and grandmother sinking to their knees when the shocking news came about uncle Martin. Her youngest, fallen in Russia. –
These were bitter years and too many victims. But God helped to bear the burden throughout all the misery. And mother stood firm in her faith. How often a Christian song resounded on her lips. He gave her the strength to cope with some difficult tasks throughout this hardship and tribulation of life.
But children forget quickly and get used to many things. How carefree were the years of my childhood, filled with play and happiness. All those many things in yard, garden, and close vicinity, that never escaped my curiosity. - The smallest corners behind hedges and fences, nothing remained hidden. However, getting out of and escaping some tricky situations was sometimes connected with fears and misery. - Tragically enough, when climbing over our neighbor's iron fence, the bottom of my pants got caught and half of the “naked one” was exposed to the light of day! No amount of sneaking helped. Mother knew immediately what was going on. And the cane came out from behind the cupboard and demanded its right!
If we three heroes came home late once again, and looked like little robbers, or had done something terrible, whereby next door a window pane shattered into pieces through a badly aimed hard, green apple, something that had already been communicated to Mrs. Ternow in painful clarity by Mrs. Schütz, then our apartment resembled more a lion’s cage before feeding, with all the roaring going on. Helmut got most of it, he gritted his teeth. But until the cane (as the third) consulted my backside, mother's arm was tired and I felt very little; but yelled all the more. - The brown chestnuts that I had collected behind the fence had lost their appeal completely. But it did not take long and something new, more tempting, drove me to another, often "forbidden" place.
Besides the daily tasks and the worry about the education for the three of us, mother sewed every piece I wore. Whether trousers, shirt, or jacket, or a warm coat for the winter, she knew how to make something new for us from an old piece. She could use every piece of clothing from relatives or good friends whose children had grown out of a piece, to make something that I could still wear. She even knew how to sew her blouses and dresses skillfully and tastefully. She had learned to be a milliner in her young years, and understood how to skillfully design a new beret with veil or a hat of the "new fashion". Cleanliness and being dressed decently was a matter of course. Never would she let me walk around with something torn or frayed with holes. That was only true for a family that we considered slovenly and whose children I was not allowed to associate with.
She knew how to take full advantage of the long winter evenings. In front of the window stood the sewing machine and next to the busy spinning wheel the kerosene lamp, the only source of light for the living room. It had to be sufficient so that we children still had enough light to rummage around with our toys and do schoolwork. - The oil, so scarcely allocated, was never enough. There was indeed an energy crisis during the First World War.
On her last visit to Berlin, where she took me for the first time, Mother had discovered a cute little economy lamp, it was available in different colors and looked like a candle. She became a sales representative for this lamp. Everyone liked to buy them in our town. "How much more economical could a light burn!" It hardly used any oil. Even though mother did not make much money from this sale, it helped to earn a few Mark here and there on the side.
After all, how far could the 60 Mark monthly pension she received from father's company go? It was all about managing the money and being careful with every penny. And even from this little money she was able to put something aside from time to time, for a time when she might need it even more. Later, I realized that this was how she and grandmother were able to buy the little house in Krauschen #36 for 8,000 Mark from the master butcher Lange. It was our great luck, as it happened just before the insidious inflation turned almost all pensioners into beggars or poor millionaires.
Mother was versatile in all her activities. Was it the constant pressure, the concern of our upbringing, -she always found something, some activity that helped her to get through these difficult times. Her joyful disposition seldom left her, only when she was getting really serious with me. –
As Christmas approached, she often had many things to do to make the most of every minute. The little dolls for which she crocheted charming little dresses in all variations and costumes - whether master baker or chimney sweeper or an original bridal couple, which she never wanted to give away. The glass cabinet had filled up. And the people in our town came and placed new orders every year. She also understood the technique of basket weaving in all interesting forms; she used a very fine pipe for this purpose, which I later found only in similar works of the Indians in the north. They were works of art. So was the silk embroidery, for which she developed her own patterns in the most harmonious colors. Tablecloths were edged with charming edges and with that she decorated the living room table, often every week with the latest project that she had finished.
Rarely was mother at any gatherings in the circle of friends or at home, at the "coffee-round chit-chat", without some needlework. Or when she read a story to us before going to bed, about the old German heroic sagas I loved, while at the same time the crochet or knitting needle slid busily between her skinny fingers - in a well-rehearsed rhythm, rarely looking at it. This is how the long black stockings were created for us children. She would hardly ever have thought of picking out such garments in a store.
Mother loved flowers more than anything, she was delighted with every "forest and meadow bouquet" I brought her from somewhere. The first fragrant lilac from behind the fence of Sikenius' garden where Grandmother lived, that reached far across the fence and into the street. The white daisies, shining like stars, infallibly decorated her room at the time of blossoming. Then came the autumn, when the flowering heath with its heady scent had enchanted wide areas and the hillsides of the "Fuchsberg" with a colorful carpet; we could not resist to decorate her home also with this splendor. Mother knew how to keep the blossoms for a long time; until spring a bouquet stood on the long console as an adornment for our home. She called the heath "Erika".
I knew every corner of our immediate surroundings, every body of water; the clay ponds where golden salamanders tempted to be caught. Or the cemetery - such a quiet place - where we often saw fire salamanders scampering among the ivy next to the all too fast lizards. The catching remained a mystery to me at first. I thought I was going to catch them. I was surprised when I only held a fidgeting tail in my hand. - How did that happen? - A tailless lizard was only half a lizard. There had to be other methods, and soon I discovered where the tailless little animal had fled to, it had found a safe sleeping corner: under the gravestone! –
The cemetery was well ordered according to the old customs and traditions. Plain and simple, the gravestones lay flat here in long rows. Dates that went back to the beginning of the 18th century, underneath which hid what I wanted to catch. Some of the stones had already sunk deep. – Yes, if only we were able to lift one or the other a little. Then I only needed to grab! Indeed, it succeeded! - That was a life at home, all our pets in a self-built terrarium scurried back and forth to my joy! I knew exactly how many of the green and gray little "crocodiles" we had. Wasn't there one missing after our last count? And the next day one was missing again! There were only 5 instead of 7, even under the stones - no discovery. There! after a long search, a week later, mother found a dried up lizard in the corner under the cupboard. - Oh dear! "Immediately you let all the animals go!" was the last sentence of the court: "And don't ever bring anything like that into my apartment again!” –
We couldn't help it. Soon after, Helmut had abducted a long blindworm from the forest. This to our mother's greatest horror: "A snake! Don't let me see you with it here!". The pile of sand around the yard was also not exactly a suitable place to catch flies and mosquitoes, so necessary for the livelihood of the blindworm. The blindworm was admired by young and old. But it missed its hiding places, a good hiding place. It searched for it and found it rather quickly in one of the unguarded moments, more quickly that I would have suspected. It had already disappeared into a narrow, inconspicuous crevice in the brick wall! "Alarm!" Every boy from the house jumped to the spot to see what to do now. In vain! No effort helped; we had to watch helplessly as it slowly crept into the unknown, into the dark wall. Wherever it stayed in the end, we never saw it again.
The latest victim, a small squirrel, did not stand up to mother's expert opinion either. I had caught it in the woods. The living room was no place for such a lively little animal. "Back to the forest where you found it!" she said. Disappointed, I brought it to its old home, where it disappeared in its newfound freedom in the next treetop. –
Since Helmut was far ahead of me in many of his arts, crafts, and manual skills, my admiration was considerable. I gladly helped him with his latest "inventions". - This time, a warship was under construction and promised to be very big. There it stood, half finished, almost a meter long. A lot still had to happen before the "launch on the high seas". Wood, wire, sheet metal, all imaginable material that could be found had assumed the convincing seaworthiness of an armored cruiser.
I helped him a lot with gluing, holding, and "picking up"; all the things that the older brother takes for granted from the younger one. As I said, he already knew how to command like a captain on his ship. Finally, the day came for the great event, the launch, the great voyage, that was to take place in "Schubert's Pond". Even the curious neighborhood boys had gathered and wanted to experience the miracle. Everybody wanted to help carry. 4 men were chosen, the rest ran after them; and so, everybody marched down the oak alley to the pond. - What a proud sight. - Arriving at a favorable spot on the shore, the highlight of the day was to be celebrated. - Commandos resounded: Attention! Careful! Let go! Exciting breath-holding! - It glides proudly through the water. Hurrah! everybody screams. ---- But there! What is happening? It slightly tilts to the side - how can that be? No - it sinks! - "Get it back!". Everybody helped who could help in this catastrophe. Who would have guessed that this maiden voyage would end so abruptly? –
Back to the shipyard. Where was the mistake? A hole. Where did the water come through the cracks? Here it was time to think. "Something was not right." - A coat of paint was missing. Maybe a coat of tar, as the roofers use to seal the roof when it rains through. That was it! Once again, we were lucky. Was there not a roofer at work nearby? The whole area smelled of it! "Look outside and look around!” As a good scout I brought the news: Close to the corner of Treuden's house there is a tar barrel, full of a bubbling black mass. Very good! But how could we get some? It had to be done quickly and unnoticed. And so a way was found! –
A visitor was with us, the cousin from Berlin! We Ternow boys were all too well known, in case... - Eberhard was still a stranger in town, who would know him! Helmut gives short instructions: "With a tin can there out of the garbage can in hand - here you have it, - you quickly walk past the barrel, scoop a good measure, and come back, running as fast as you can. No one will see you, much less notice anything.” Good-naturedly Eberhard does what is asked of him. Faster than expected he is back and delivers his black goods. Helmut sees his wish fulfilled, is happy, because now we can start again and make sure it will be sea proof.
Eberhard's fingers were no longer so clean, and his jacket and pants and face were covered with a "grey cloud”. - Concerns? - Oh no, there are means and ways to clean such things we thought. The cloud on cousin Eberhard's face disappeared, and everyone was busy with brushes and the sticky tar. The work was boldly heading for completion. But what is suddenly all the commotion down in the yard; the loud voices in the hallway and corridor? - Who stands there suddenly in front of the shed: Do I hear and see right? "Here you see, Mrs. Ternow, the black trace is leading here." From the road to the step, along the long hallway, and to the ship! -What I overheard here was terrible. "Who could have done this?" - "Eberhard, of course!" - "How will the white sandstone corridor ever be clean again?" - For me and my big brother, the desire to continue painting and building was suddenly gone. - No wonder, the ship then remained in the "dry harbor" as an unfinished creation.
Other problems, lighter ones, that flew in the air, were tested and built from now on. We went over to the aircraft construction of the air fleet. Were not Immelmann, Bölke, and von Richthofen from the air battles of the First World War our heroes and idols? Oh, what models we built: a Rumpler Taube, Fokker, monoplane, biplane. Each part, fuselage or wing, was made from bamboo sticks and the propeller was carved from wood with a pocket knife. The age of plastic was not to begin until 50 years later.
And so the first models were created, which for a long time, not exactly to mother's delight, hung on the ceiling as dust catchers. - No, not only that, they could also really fly, albeit only in gliding flight. Helmut released them from the uppermost attic window and I had to catch them in the yard and bring them back up - 3 flights of stairs. – What luck when the delicate frame was not damaged, or even broke off a piece whenever they landed. If the same happened, I was of course to blame; it was said "You don't pay attention and you can't even catch! You are too stupid." – Well, the big brother always knew better.
The war took its course and its victims. A strict rationing of all nutritionally important things had begun, starting from the first years on. Allocation stamps were issued to each family. Among these, the bread stamps were the most important. Although, one cannot live on bread alone! It didn't help, we were used to it, and the daily bread was never enough in those time. And mother really did not know how to feed three hungry "little men". "Mother I am hungry"! How many times a day the call resounded. The good bread, it was never enough for everybody. It meant something completely new for us boys. What did I understand about wartime and rationing, and it was the most difficult thing to get used to. But no matter how it was, everyone got the same amount with their ration. The bread stamps changed color every month, so there could be no mistakes. Failure to use them meant forfeiting the goods. That was out of the question with us Ternows. Whatever we received was anyways not enough. - Meat was only once a week at most, and the little bit of butter - hardly worth the trouble.
Where was the strength and energy to come from? Mother really did not know what to do anymore. In this hopeless situation one of us had a "brilliant idea". Give each of us his allotted bread of 3 pounds a week and let each of us make arrangements ourselves. "That was very easily said and very difficult to do". And so it happened that when the new week started, 3 boys sat there and thought about where was a good place, or even better, a good hiding place, to keep the bread from other hungry bread-eaters.
In a dark corner I believed my precious goods to be safe. But soon I noticed that it disappeared faster than I suspected. Something was not right here. What was going on here? On the last day of the week I found only a small edge. Which "bread thief" had been working here secretly? Mice? No, there was no trace of them here. What then? How was that possible, when I carefully measured every day? What was I going to do? Until mother searched for the truth and exposed the culprit. - Justice must be done. - Behold, the big one explained to the small one in his "logical way": "Little people need less bread," - and in doing so had helped a great deal to reach our goal prematurely in this "seven-day eating competition”. - Who was the winner here? - Mother was faced with the new and serious task of dividing the food rations.
On one of the following days, she found an old, long expired white bread stamp in the deep recess of a kitchen drawer. How was that possible? Unbelievable! How could one forget a precious bread stamp like that? Weren't the yellow ones valid for this week? Mother was so very careful with everything. After all, there was a state of emergency here. Was it still possible to save a 3-pound bread? Was it a sin if we colored the bread stamp yellow? I had an box with watercolors, maybe that was the right thing to do. Let's give it a try. - And behold, mother's artistic hand performed a masterpiece! Only a slight difference in color, that is, on close inspection only, when you knew it. But the date? Who would look at that! Yellow was the color.
Of course, I, the smallest, was sent to the baker Kobelt and stood with a beating heart in front of Miss Kobelt. "A bread please." As usual, the stamp and the money at hand. - Never did I run out of a store faster with a bread under my arm. - What luck! At home the joy was great and the hungry wolf was once again denied entry through our door.
The hardship of the war years soon opened my eyes and taught me many things that helped me get through the daily difficulties of life. We soon realized that in the countryside we had many things better than the city dwellers. Here, there were fields around where the fruits and ears of grain ripened. When the harvest came, we were not the only ones to pick up the remains; there was still a lot that was left behind and it did not have to wait long for us.
With many a full sack of yellow wheat ears I went home tired in evening, and later it was threshed out. Grandmother still had an antique "flail," just like the ones the farmers used to some extent before the threshing machine started to move from one small farmer to another. How often the three- or four-note sound could be heard from the threshing floor of the neighboring farmers on cold winter days. I also wanted to learn how to handle granny's flail. It remained an art that I never mastered. –
Nevertheless, the wheat grains were threshed and if it was a lot, we exchanged them for flour in the nearest neighboring village. But how much went through the coffee mill every day and came the next morning as "wheat porridge" for breakfast on the table. What could be healthier!
The summer and fall vacations were used diligently. There was little "idleness," for that was the beginning of all vice. Mother had imprinted this on me. - What did it mean? I could not really understand what our game had to do with idleness. - "Where is the firewood! Now you can also saw. You are big enough now. There is so much firewood in the forest there, look for dry one. Take the cart and go." And so we ran off with our tall, old-fashioned pram in which mother had taken us all for a ride at some point. Nobody could see or find us in the forest. So it was fine with us - to combine work and play in cheerfulness. When we came home, hungry and exhausted at noon, I can still hear grandma's rough voice saying: "What is this? You only have a crow's nest on your cart! Go into the forest again with your stroller!" And mother agreed with her despite our complaints.
Wasn't the most beautiful game in summer, when the sun disappeared behind the roofs and it began to dawn? We called the game robbers and gendarme, where one party had to track down and "arrest" the other. Next door was the "institution’s garden", a garden park with tall fir tree hedges and lots of flowering shrubs. The high fence meant no obstacle for us, we always went over, behind the hedges, under the dense bushes, or up a tree. Yes, this silver fir with the full branches that stretched out far down - here I found my favorite hiding place, and like a squirrel I went up to the already swaying top. Was I safe from my pursuers? Not for long. I heard crackling, something moving in the lower branches. Who could that be? It became darker and even grayer between the thick needle branches. Who had discovered me there and followed me up to this height? Was there a safe escape from here? Probably not. Close below me I saw my pursuer climbing closer to me.
Now or never – this was a crucial moment in our game. Here, the "gendarme" was already sitting too close on the heels of the "robber", too close - and I sat there, frozen, holding my breath. But then, let's go! And with a bold leap to the outermost branches, I went down again in increasing speed from branch to branch. - No, my pursuer, the gendarme, did not dare to follow me on the short-cut path this time. He chose the climbing way down, while I had long since found a new hiding place.
One of us was responsible for the apartment key and of course had it in his trouser pocket, the only place where this annoying, huge monster could be carried. It was "high time" to leave before it got too dark. – But look, someone stood there and reached from one pocket to another; the key had disappeared and our search remained a futile act! Oh dear! We were supposed to be back in time and this had been our only key and mother had said that she would be a bit late today. She had left the key with Helmut this time. What was going to happen now? We hardly dared to go home without the key. The door was locked and mother not yet in sight. Soon she found her 3 whining boys, dirty and in resin smeared pants. Yes, the lamentation should become even bigger as soon as we got behind the locked door! The blacksmith was called, opened it artfully with a lock pick and then it happened! The punishment! This time I marched into my bed hungry with an empty stomach.
There was so much to do during the fall holidays. The stubble fields were bare, the forest not too far away, there was a lot of dry wood lying around and, as so often, it was said: "You could help prepare for winter, take your cart and do not make us tell you again". In the undergrowth, certainly there were many a scrawny tree, just a little difficult to fell and load without an axe. Was it allowed? No! Nevertheless, we took them with us and could reach our goal faster, and by the way, grandmother would not call this load a "crow's nest" again!
Once again the Ternow boys were busy at work. One cut down dry young trees, the other carried, the third packed the new ladder wagon full. There! Oh the fright! Who stands there before us all of a sudden and takes us by the scruff of the neck? We drop everything. A forester! In green uniform and with a rifle! Mr. Obendorfer, the owner; where did he suddenly come from? - Escape - run - everything was in vain. With a thundering voice and with a dark look on his face: "What are you doing here, who allowed you to do this in my forest?" A pitiful stutter was the answer. I was rooted to the spot as if spellbound! - "Come here! Give me that rope!" "Yes" was the answer. - "I will hang you, the three of you. Up there on the next tree", I heard him raving on. Oh, what torture! A pause followed, which seemed like an eternity. - Now who would be the first to hang there on a rope? - He let us go, but promised to hang us up next time. - The load of wood from his forest, that was to be the last one for now. –
The seriousness of life and the game, it was often interchangeable and so the beautiful vacation season passed, where many things, often seemingly impossible, had happened. –
Our birthdays were especially celebrated. I was born on February 19 and Johannes on February 20; 2 years and 1 day apart. There were no great gifts to spoil us; we were happy about the smallest things that I discovered in the early morning hours, usually with still sleepy eyes, on the birthday table with a burning candle. The most beautiful thing was a delicious cake that mother had conjured up the day before. Even if the food rations were so scarce, she understood, and performed a miracle. Not just one, but two of them, and the whole room smelled of these miracles.
She had put a lot of effort into finding the means for this. Many a long way was connected with it. Usually on Fridays, she went on her way and took me by the hand. This time to Frauenvorwerk, a small farming settlement where she hoped to get something there. 1 pound of butter, a few eggs, or some curd cheese. – Mrs. Meier had promised her to have something for her the next time. - The way was long, 2 hours back and forth on a lonely country road, often cold and windy, it was not a nice walk. – Mrs. Meier had long forgotten what she had promised mother last Friday. Mother was not the only one who came, and she could not offer the farmer's wife anything extra. There, again a futile knock on the door. - Maybe she would have better luck at the farm next door! - The chain dog barked even before we entered the yard. The farmer's wife, curious, came out of the cow barn and mother expressed her modest wish. At least a few eggs - "No, the chicken’s a---- are frozen shut" was the answer in her flat dialect. Mother was dumbfounded. How ugly people could be. I saw the tears in her eyes; to have to go on such errands to provide for daily food made her heart ache - no wonder after such an answer.
Grandmother acted in her own way however she saw fit. Formerly, she had had rabbits in her little house, and now she had them here in our house; those guys grew and now and then Elfriede got a fat roast. She did not care about the house rules and did what she thought was right. The kid was already a growing goat with horns, and there were a few chickens as well! Where was this going to lead! Everybody had to look out for themselves in this time of need.
Elfriede was not very enthusiastic about all the animals; she had grown up in the big city without any such experience - except the short time in Zemitz. Here she was a stranger in this field. It was a necessity that at least her boys should learn about it, or at least that the interest was awakened in them. So it was said! Everyone was assigned a task under her regiment. In Gnadenberg #16 there was no one else but the landlord who owned pets. Grandmother considered herself equally entitled. From time to time her 3 chickens made their morning walk across the yard - and what did not fail to happen? - friendly relations with the neighboring stable, where things were also lively, were established. - "What was that?" Grandmother excitedly reported, "I am missing an egg in the henhouse!” Great excitement! How did she know that she was missing one? Well, she "examined" her chickens every morning and knew exactly what each chicken was supposed to do. This mystery had to be solved. Only in a strange nest could the egg have been laid, - in the stable of the neighbor, our landlord? Was that possible?
In the meantime, many a dark cloud had risen on the horizon. One could literally feel a thunderstorm in this atmosphere. Grandmother knocked politely on the door of the landlord - opposite us - such a case demanded clarification! - One word led to another, lightning struck! Where did the egg in his hand suddenly come from? That remained unexplained to me. "Here is your egg," he shouted, and then, with a bang and crash against our door! It slowly, sadly ran down onto our doormat. - Yes, now I got it, it was war - war on all fronts – after all, an egg was an egg! We children got over such excitement faster, but with mom and grandma it remained a topic of conversation for a long time. The chickens wandered one by one into the soup pot. –
As everything in life leads to something good in the end, this incident was the reason, and the last reason, that we moved to the cottage in Groß Krauschen #36 soon after. Both villages bordered closely on each other. The Gnadenberg church tower greeted us also in Groß Krauschen, and the harmonious chime of the bells at every hour made me often sit up and take notice; it was a new home and yet the same home as before.
The Moravian Church had a beneficial influence on us - father and mother had belonged to a free Christian community*4 in Berlin. We children were not baptized, but we were brought up in the faith of our parents. Mother had found new Christian friends in Gnadenberg and thus the right connection to people in the community with whom to socialize. She taught in the Sunday school where she took me from an early age and later to the church service and the singing lessons where I was “active” on the bellows of the organ in the small hall from time to time. Oh, how many new verses and songs and sayings from the Bible I learned by heart, and the devotional booklet was taken to hand daily.
Later, when I was 14 years old, Mother decided to become a member of the Church of the Moravian Brethren. We had to prepare ourselves for this. The Council of Elders and Pastor Grunewald took it very serious, it was all according to the Elder’s custom. Our past was thoroughly examined. We believed ourselves to be pure! Mrs. Ternow was asked once more to talk to Pastor Grunewald to "clarify things"! "Mrs. Ternow, if you and your children want to become members, then the "stealing of food" by your children must stop!”
This was an unexpected blow for our dear mother, who took everything so seriously, and I would not forget it so quickly either. - "Stealing food?" - Every now and then we had to take care of grandmother's kid and rabbits for food. - But the juicy "corn sticks" could not always be found in close proximity. Also the railroad embankment and the edges of fields could not offer us what looked so tempting on a green clover or rape field. Johannes and I made worried faces when mother interrogated us in detail to get a full understanding of this case. - Yes, I remember, once we could not resist the temptation, - although, nobody had caught the two of us, - and yet, the sun brought it to daylight! Had we managed to get onto the field of Brother Hübner? -
We survived this terrible test and were accepted as members of the Moravian Church in Gnadenberg. But before that we were baptized and thus a new blessed stage in my life began.
Krauschen
Autumn 1918
The terrible war raged for over four years. Those were the last tragic convulsions of a lost battle. Hopelessly the people wandered around; how much longer could a nation endure this? Hardly that there was anything left to buy; the economy exploited to the last. Those who found refuge in the countryside under these conditions and could be sure to stand on their own land, could consider themselves lucky. The money began to lose its value. –
What should become of us? We could not go on living for rent in Gnadenberg. And so, mother and grandmother thought long and carefully to find a better solution. Yes, and God made it so that what they were looking for was found! A small house with a large garden in the next village was for sale. And so it finally came about that mother and we moved to Groß Krauschen #36 in the autumn of 1918. The house was situated in the middle of wide fields and green meadows. A large garden with many trees was something special. For the first time we had our own property. Grandma brought with her her growing goat, the chickens, and the rabbits. Now she could do whatever she wanted, without any obstacles. And I felt happy in this free, boundless environment.
How mother and grandmother found the means to finance the house remained a miracle for me. How had she managed the high down payment and mortgage? 8000 Mark was a considerable sum at the time. Their thrifty economy, their diligence and perseverance in everything they did brought us blessings. Yes, their faith and trust in God and Christ, and His guidance formed the basis of their whole life.
We now lived on our own land. - A country life. -And we could do whatever we wanted and act as we pleased, completely unhindered. For me, this life in freedom, in nature, had a special kind of allure and was no comparison with that of my cousins from the big city, who now visited us every year during the vacation season. Uncle Willi and Aunt Klara became regular guests, and they felt comfortable with us.
Uncle Willi always had his wallet full of "travel food stamps". Oh, how much this benefited us in these times where everything was still so scarce. What was his saying: "He who still has ham and bread will never go hungry to bed!” The former was almost unknown, the rarest delicacy. –
Uncle loved the Silesian forests and every day he went for his walks and brought back baskets full of edible mushrooms. I often accompanied him on these walks and learned to distinguish the good ones from the bad. Those were rare things that we sometimes discovered and tracked down in the forest. Who was that who had settled deep in the forest? Two run-down fellows, from the looks of it two escaped Russian prisoners of war. What was there to do? They were squatting by a fire where they had spent the night. Were they armed? We did not know. "Hands up!" yelled Uncle and aimed his upside-down tobacco pipe at the two escaped prisoners. And behold, they followed obediently in fear and terror. - They had escaped from a labor camp and understandably wanted to return to their homeland in Russia. –
Uncle led them to the nearest authorities, the mayor. The outcome could have been different. We became more careful with our forays into the woods, but brought home many a basket of good mushrooms. I even sold the once that were left over, often to the kitchen of the girls' boarding school in Gnadenberg, where the cook was always happy to see me with them. –
Grandma also felt comfortable in her new surroundings. She had a nice apartment, no comparison to the narrow attic. Below her was the stable with a growing family of goats, and in front of the house a garden where she could do whatever she wanted. Even her chickens had free rein. They loved to walk on the freshly sown beds where most of the worms were to be found under the dung. But they dutifully returned to their henhouse when an egg was due! They did not need to be "examined" anymore before their outing as it used to be the case.
Everybody had more freedom. It was a life as grandma needed it and she enjoyed it for many more years, despite her paralyzed arm. The garden gave us something to feed ourselves, something so valuable after the war, and helped us through the miserable time.
I tried to do my part and help wherever I was needed, depending on the season. Outside, in the fields after the harvest time, collecting wheat ears, or digging up the beds in the garden before planting, and picking the various fruits in autumn, or chopping the wood which, to mother's sorrow, could never be split small enough for the stove with an iron plate and the two open rings on which she prepared everything. - Sometimes the work never stopped. - No wonder then that Sigfried disappeared quickly behind the house on one of the cherry trees. The beautiful Morello cherries were a bit too tempting, who could resist!
The Linden Tree
In our garden, close to the wayside, there was a tall linden tree. There was not a more beautiful one anywhere close to my home. I was proud that such a wonderful old tree stood in our garden; clearly recognizable from far away – what splendor. Here I was at home now, there stood my tree, the trunk was strong for its age - perhaps already somewhat hollow; but I could easily try out my climbing skills on it. So I sat up there for many an hour, singing and whistling, various songs that could be heard far away. More than one neighbor I knew came by and had to think hard what funny bird it was that was sitting up there.
Below me, grandmother had her garden, her territory. She spoke of the sun, too much shade, and too much energy that my friend took from this dark earth for himself. For me, the young lad, this was 'incomprehensible' what she said about my friend here. - But soon I would understand the deeper meaning that was hidden in her word. - She saw things from below, but I only saw them from above, and that explained everything. Unfortunately, I loved my linden tree but grandma did not! "The tree must go!" – that was her final word. –
There came a day when my happiness almost disappeared - before the sun sank, there was no tree left! Crashing in the fall it was, a last tremor, and then it was gone, the beauty and the once so blooming life. With tears running down my face. Oh you, my old friend. No, I will never forget you.
But, as it is in life, everything has two sides, even the linden tree that I missed so much. It provided us with precious heating material in winter for a long time to come. I no longer needed to go to the forest to collect wood. And in spring, new life sprouted from our garden where the linden tree once stood. There was not a single berry bush missing in our garden, and with time they all carried fruits plentifully, and not to forget the strawberries that I so liked to eat and that finally now could get enough sun. A "reconciliation" came soon and grandma could plant her garden in spring with double joy. She already felt satisfied when I took over the digging and dividing of the beds.
On one side was a row of sour cherry trees, just the way I loved them, what a treat! And at the back of the garden there were all kinds of apple, plum, and pear trees. We had plenty of everything and it lasted well beyond winter. We were especially fond of one particular apple tree. Striking because of its crooked and sloping trunk, as if it wanted to fall, but strong and firmly rooted. It soon became a popular gymnastics and climbing equipment. Who was the first to succeed in running up there, balancing without slipping? That was our preferred game. Johann is next. But what do I see!? The next moment he is on the ground, screaming and writhing in pain. His left arm and joint completely dislocated and sticking out in the opposite direction. At that moment I feel like screaming myself. He bends it back, terrible, - hardly possible, all tendons distorted! Only a doctor could help here and wrap the lame arm into a firm bandage. Who was there to tame us boys, when we were completely left to our own devices and got caught up in such daredevilry and trouble? The dear mother had to carry a heavy burden. But the father was missing in such moments. –
The long years of war had left visible traces of destruction and moral decay. Burglaries and theft were the order of the day. Things were bad in the cities. An economic war began and the motto was: "To be or not to be". The "hoarders and traffickers" - a new class, stepped onto the scene and flooded the countryside. Landowners and farmers had reached a special status in these years. Here there were "extras", here there was still something to be gotten. And so the "city dwellers" moved like swarms of bees across the villages. The "peddlers and traffickers" - for many, the instinct of self-preservation was an unwritten rule of that time. What was not safely behind bars and locked up - disappeared. - We, too, in our rural area were not to be spared. -
Again, a fat pig had been stolen from a farmer’s stable overnight and slaughtered behind the barn, in the middle of a cornfield, where the pitiful remains were still lying around. On another farm, the neighbor found the rabbit hutch empty one morning, and next door, the vegetable garden was half harvested. - A "pig break-in with slaughter" in our small town was no longer a rarity after all. – And Uncle Willi reported in his last letter that all his chickens disappeared from the henhouse overnight without a trace – even he, the director of the Neukölln Municipal Hospital. – But no, not without a trace! – the heads were still lying around. There were suspects, but the criminal investigation department did not pursue the case any further. No wonder, the police was overloaded with similar cases and burglaries. –
How should Uncle Willi’s loss be replaced? Mom and Grandma knew advice: "Boy, you are going to visit Uncle Willi next week during the Pentecost holidays and take 4 chickens with you!” Grandma had a mother hen that promised to provide us very soon with her offspring, a flock of chicks. –
"Willi will surely be very happy when he gets the 4 chickens and finds his fresh egg at the table every morning.” - This time I had my doubts, which was never the case otherwise. When it came to a visit to Berlin, I was always "all for it". - Three cousins with whom I was allowed to romp around and cause some newly discovered mischief in the underground corridors of the hospital. An open cellar window was always found to slip in and to mystify the guard at the front. –
This time though, the journey was to be in the company of the "clucking chicken quartet". I was really ashamed to be stuck with such luggage in a fully occupied "coupé" for 5 hours. Cousin Eberhard came to the rescue at the station and took over the clucking chickens. In any case, the surprise and joy were great, and my inner shame also passed. –
I often heard Grandma say: "Children, we live in a time full of sinfulness and badness as the world has never experienced before". She had her life almost behind her and had experienced hard times and many difficult things. I could really understand her cautiousness. She took great care of what was hers. Once in a while something went missing, even in her living room; she could become very suspicious, but never admitted it. But everything was found again. Even her glasses, this valuable piece. If she misplaced them and could not find them, I helped her gladly. How long had she been searching for them again! - "My boy, help me!" One look was enough, she had pushed them back, high above her silver, graying hair – as was her habit. –
In this case she could not suspect anyone; often, her suspicions seemed a bit strange to us. Even more so when she thought something was missing from her stable again; a good portion of coal from the last allocated hundredweight – surely no more than half could have been used so far! –
The Hamann family
We had a nice young couple as tenants in the first floor apartment. A sunny little room and bedroom, it was nothing special, but in this housing shortage, everyone was happy to have a roof over their heads. For mother it was a small additional income and, as I said, also a safe feeling in these bad times to know a man in the house.
Mr. Hamann was, as we were told, working as a real estate agent with his brother. They had their office in Bunzlau. They seemed to earn well and lived far above the average of a normal standard of living, something that could be easily noticed here and there. His job found him on the road a lot, and he often used the night or early morning train to reach the next city in time. Mrs. Hamann came to mother from time to time to borrow the alarm clock, because her husband had to leave "on time".
If the young woman was short of something, mother helped her out with small favors. The next time around, Mrs. Hamann would come upstairs and give mother a good piece of meat, a roast, which our pan first had to get used to. "Mrs. Ternow, my father slaughtered "illegally" this week, and we have plenty, "you understand...". And with that she left mother with a juicy piece of pork in her hand and scurried down the stairs. – Of course, many things still had to be handed over by the farmers after the end of the war; the government controls had not yet been lifted, and the controlled economy still prevailed. So the farmers knew how to help themselves. Even though the most unbelievable things happened, eventually, order should be restored to the economy again.
Then, one day, we heard the shocking news that our local policeman was shot the previous night while performing his duties, at a place where probably a break-in into a stable was planned. The owner had been lying in wait early that night. A cunning accomplice was suspected. Was it a misunderstanding? One of them wanted to beat the other in capturing the alleged burglar. – There – a strange noise at the entrance of the stable door, quiet footsteps. - A shot is fired. - Great excitement! These were the later statements. Every trace of a burglar was missing. The owner had irresponsibly, in his excitement, fatally hit the constable. –
Hardly a week went by and again I heard that a new burglary had been committed. Our neighbor, full of excitement, told our mother the latest news: "At the post office, a state institution, a great burglary has happened. Cash register, stamps, and other valuables had been stolen." This had gone too far! This, in the small, peaceful Gnadenberg!? There was a great commotion. – But then everything calmed down again and we heard of no new sensation and no more nightly hooliganism. The last case had brought the state police on the spot, and very soon they were on the trail of the cunning criminals. Suspicions, investigations, and testimonies, word got around, but no arrest of those who caused this great mischief was made.
Our small house was a little outside of town; part of a group of 4 buildings in the middle of meadows and fields. We found it wonderful and led a peaceful existence with childlike play and activities. Thus, I did not consider some events particularly important and I quickly forgot them.
Mother came upstairs from the garden and told us excitedly about 2 gentlemen who were just there and who had asked about our tenants downstairs. The young Mrs. Hamann was usually at home in the morning, this time though apparently not; she could not be reach and they could not talk to her. –
I usually ran up and down the stairs dozens of times and was mostly outside in my free time. I did not care much about what was going on in the dark hallway below. That day, something strange, something rare, even mysterious, caught my attention. The door to the Hamann family's apartment: the lock was taped shut, sealed. What was the meaning of this? - I looked at it in disbelief! In the afternoon, two gentlemen came again and opened the door and examined the apartment. What was that supposed to mean? What was going on here? Was anyone suspected? What for? –
The mysterious puzzle was soon to be solved; a frightening picture. Some questions had been asked of mother as well. Something was soon confirmed. A suspicion we never ever thought possible. – Mrs. Hamann had escaped through the window that morning and disappeared. Mother could only tell what she knew and that was that there was not a single bad thing to be said about the Hamann family. But "alarm clock, and nightly rides, and now and then a juicy piece of pork", and suddenly even the justified suspicion of our grandma about the absence of the coals in the stable, as well as many an inconspicuous conversation found explanations and completed the picture. - "Something like that had lived in our house for over a year?" Grandma and mother could not believe it.
Had a part of our house been used as a den of robbers? Many burglaries could be proven to have been committed by the "Hamann Brothers". The last one had brought them down. After a short time in custody, they were soon moved to safer quarters. And so the verdict sounded: "Guilty!". The transfer to the closest state penitentiary marked the end of this gang and the nightly raids that had started from our peaceful home.
A Night Watchman from house to house!
Was it any wonder that the locals longed for security and order after all this? Everyone feared for their possessions but what was the solution? - Self-help was the only solution to put an end to these nightly activities and burglaries. And so the local council decided that every resident had to contribute to this. That, according to old customs, a night watchman was to carefully watch the streets at night. I knew little of this new local regulation that was passed from house to house in a letter that had been affixed to a wooden trowel. –
And so, what was this that I found one day in our living room? In a corner next to the open window there was an interesting spear with a horn next to it. "Wonderful!", that had to be tried out. Once, twice, three times a strong blow from full lungs. Great, what a full tone through the open window. But no, wasn't that the signal for the volunteer fire department to gather when a fire breaks out? Already my mother is standing in front of me: "Boy, what are you doing?" and next door, in the neighboring house, the doors burst open. Where is the fire? - Not a second time did this signal sound through our window! – Who of us was to be the night watchman in the coming nights? One of us boys, or mother, or grandmother? - The week went by. The spear and the horn in the corner remained untouched, silent, only to finally move to another house, to the next "guard".
When the food supply finally improved and we no longer depended on goat breeding for milk and butter, one animal after another was slaughtered. Mr. Adler, our neighbor, took care of the slaughtering. And since he could not always manage it alone, I was once called to help him. - Oh how I disliked this; the poor animal that Johannes had milked so often. I had to "hold it". While mother locked all windows tightly. - There was plenty of meat and it was kept in big stone pots for the daily needs. - "Is there goat meat again today?" it sounded through our house. Very soon it became too much of a good thing, who could stand having so much goat meat?
On the pond not far away from us, there was a small, densely overgrown island that had been arousing my curiosity for some time. What did it look like there, how could one get across to it? I had to know. Through the reeds, wading through the water, not too deep. But there was a place where it went down - splash - and I quickly retreated, with wet clothes. Wasn't there a better solution to reach this interesting spot that was so wonderfully made for our games? A boat! - Where should we get that? - A raft, that was already easier. There were those narrow wooden connection planks that were used as a bridge over a nearby stream. Weren’t those just made for that? Of course, they were! A walkway over the stream would be easy to remove. Hurrah! We had our raft and headed to the mysterious island world, which we declared to be ours from that day on.
"Wigwams" (teepees) were built from leaves and branches. We loved to pretend being Sioux Indians and everyone got a warrior name. Even a fire was built and lit. Here we stayed and dreamed of the Indian heroes in North America of whom we read with excitement, of the fights with the white men, the wild hunts for the buffalo, the peace pipe, and smoke signals. –
In fact, - "smoke signals" - they became visible the next time we approached the island on the raft! What had happened? Had other "Indians" occupied our empire? I could not believe my eyes! - Long after that, I saw the signals just rising to the sky from afar and learned to understand them. - The moor, in its mysterious interior - it glowed, it burned! - And for a long time after gave testimony of what we had conjured up in the game. The autumn rain came, the winter, and with it, the end of these strange smoke signals that only we alone knew how to decipher.
Was there anything more wonderful than this anticipatory wait for spring to come, and then the summer, full of joy, and then the summer school-holiday season with all its attractions? And where was I most drawn to when the sun was shining bright and clear? – to the water, to the swimming pond. I practiced swimming. The strong roots of a proud oak tree on the edge of the shore served me as first aid. Holding on to it with both hands convulsively, the legs kicking, finally only one hand, but then off - hurrah! - swallowed - spat - sank. Try it again - finally - like a fish in the water! - After all, it was the first success. To keep oneself above water, what an art!
Who can dive the longest and who can swim the furthest under water, who can jump down from the highest point! There was no end to our games. –And then there were the rowing boats - how much fun is a boat race! - a naval battle, capsizing, and when things were really wild, which they always were, the boat almost sank. Here we had fun and played freely in God's wonderful nature.
Nothing remained unknown to me, it had to be discovered and examined. I had taken a particular interest in Mr. Schubert’s ponds with the carps and the goldfish. This was the most interesting area for me in every season. Already in early spring when the first water lilies were resting like stars between the reeds, I was quickly on the spot. - They were gladly bought by the flower stores in Bunzlau for the wreaths that decorated the graves. I earned a few pennies, and, at the same time, was happy about the success. –
I was even more attracted by the fish - the small goldfish that Mr. Schubert had put in his pond and that had multiplied. Something had to be done here. How could I resist? I was an artist in catching things. That was something I understood. After all, it was something so easy to do with my hands. There! - scurrying back and forth between the reeds, and the water not deep at all, only up to my knees the water reaches. Besides, who could catch me here! A vessel was quickly at hand. - Equipped with a rusty tin can I made a decision. "Off to the pond. Goldfish belong in an aquarium!" How much nicer they are than those little grey bearded mudfish from the ditch with which I had to content myself until now and that did not last very long.
One or two goldfish, like the boys in the town where I had seen them, that was my dream. Barefoot, as always, this time off to catch goldfish. - It was so quiet all around, what could happen to disturb me during this catch? Although one never knew! Caution was required. A watchful look to the right and left did no harm at all. –
There they swam, the little golden animals - one, two - and another one, - caught! - I had never experienced such luck. But now quickly back to the shore next to the road. - "Who do I see coming?" Mr. Schubert in uncomfortably close proximity! - "You rascal" I hear. "Stop!" - No, never! and run away with my golden catch, and run as fast as I can. Mr. Schubert ran after me, but he gave up quickly. – Luckily I escape, but I can still hear him shouting and scolding behind me: "Don't let me see you here again!” - Breathlessly, I hold the box tightly in my hand. - Oh no! They had jumped out during this wild chase, there was not one little fish to be seen. - From now on I was not that keen anymore to go to the goldfish pond. –
But that’s okay, there were other ponds and waters that could not keep me away and that were very enticing to me. - In the other direction, towards the forest, there was another pond - hidden among the bushes and willow branches. A small stream gushed from here through the bushes and the meadow. I had never caught anything here before. –
The small ladder wagon was full of collected wood, as it was still our job to find firewood for Mom from time to time. Now we had time to romp and jump around in the shallow creek. - Maybe one could catch small fish here too. Easy to understand, I had lost the desire for it lately. – But what do I see, very close in front of me between the pebbles? Two carp, like two big stones, immobile in the shallow water. Could they still swim at all? How did these guys get here? They had escaped from the pond! - What a catch. - This time, no artistry was required. But how could I get home with these two magnificent fishes without attracting attention? - That was not an art either. There was a good spot under the wood in the wagon.
How happy mother was when we arrived back home with this catch! Something so good, something precious for the kitchen, and, on top of it, the wood to cook them! However, I had to honestly assure her that we had not made the catch in any forbidden way. What a wonderful carp meal we had the next few days. The goat meat remained in the pot; it had completely lost its appeal.
Grandma's hometown, Liebichau, was about 1 ½ hours away from us. The small straw-covered cottage still stood, as it did then, in the middle of green meadows and fields, just like ours. Just as she had experienced it. The old ivy-covered plum trees and the garden, next to it the well, and the old brick oven next to the barn floor – all testament to the past time of her childhood which she told us a lot about when she was in the right mood. I knew the old house from the inside and outside. I loved it; almost sunk in itself, as it seemed to me, with the small windows. The door was so low that an adult had to bend his head deeply when entering.
Now Aunt Emma Linke lived there all alone, and I loved to visit her. A steep staircase led under the roof, filled with fragrant hay. During an overnight visit, I could not have wished for a nicer bed than the soft hay bed up there. Especially when the pussy cat came over to me from her mouse hunt and slipped purring under my blanket.
Grandmother was one of 12 children who grew up in this small and narrow habitat. – She told us about the great inflation when you could get nothing for the money, a hard time, difficult to feed a family with 12 children. This had not been easy for the family father. - He had been a hard-working master shoemaker and was happy when he could sell a pair of finished shoes or boots in the far away city for a few coins to make a little bit of money. It was not enough to keep hunger away. If the need was too great, the children stayed home from school and had to help in the fields of the big landowners during the day to earn a little bread. –
At the age of 14, mother sent her Ernestine (grandmother) to Berlin. She was now considered a grown up and should be able to take care of herself from now on! Berlin was 8 to 10 hours away by train, and there, little Ernestine had to find her way in such a foreign world, completely inexperienced. In the big city there was work and soon she had taken on a position in a household. - But the great homesickness, the desire to go back to mother, did not stay away.
Still a shy, little country girl, her few belongings wrapped up in a bundle, she sat in the train again, crying softly the whole trip back to mother, without a ticket. - Did the conductor feel pity or did he overlook the little creature in a corner of the carriage? - What would Mother say at home when Ernestine would be standing in front of their door? Mother at home would surely understand, but what good did that do? - There was no more room for Ernestine. Soon it was time to return to Berlin. "Uncle Ferdinand will find you a job."
It was to be a final farewell from Liebichau, her home. From now on, Grandmother stood on her own two feet. Life was serious for Ernestine and it was hard to earn a living as she soon found out with the heavy iron and the hot ironing rollers. There was no electricity yet at that time, it was barely that gas had found its way to lighting the streets and rooms; she secretly had to prepare potatoes over an open flame. And what was is that she had to hear from the lady of the manor in her last position before she ran away: "Fried potatoes are still much too good for the servants because it requires the addition of butter and salt!” Grandma wanted to tell us with all of this: "Children, see how good you have it today!" Times had changed. –
She told us about many of her experiences and many stories so charmingly in her Silesian dialect. And when she did that, she was full of life and put her heart and soul in the telling of these stories.
Mother's hearing had deteriorated considerably. It was a condition that had started and was not getting better. She bore this burden with patience. - None of the modern electronic hearing aids known today that provide relief for many hearing impaired people existed. - She had a device, a black ear trumpet, that mother got used to over time, especially when she was in company, while we children got used to talking loudly. Helmut was in his second year of apprenticeship, when he brought her one of these miracle hearing aids from Siemens & Halske. It wasn't quite right yet, but she found some relief and was able to follow the Sunday sermon a little better.
She sat in the first row on the sisters' side, close to the pulpit. We boys, on the other hand, sat on the brothers' side as usual, - an old custom of the congregation according to the saying: "Keep the rams separated from the ewes”. Despite all this, it was not always possible to stay fully attentive. Here, too, there was sometimes restlessness and moaning, and that in a well-ordered church. –
What was that suddenly for a piercing, sustained whistle? A silly boyish prank or a failure of a high organ pipe? That sometimes happened! And all heads turned in this and that direction! - No - mother's hearing aid had once again completely given up. The battery was apparently at the end of its life. – Nothing is perfect in this world. That is why, on the next Sunday, sister Ternow reached for her old ear trumpet again, the only apparatus that was fully reliable, in order to avoid an even worse embarrassment in the future.
It was not easy for her. Her best friend, Sister Klein, came to her often for a visit. They both understood each other very well, were connected by a deep inner understanding. Sister Klein also had a condition, she had an issue with her larynx and only lisped. One could hardly hear her, let alone understand her. And yet, often the two of them sat at the coffee table and not seldom in deep conversation, where one "understood the other” magnificently. - It often amazed me how two dear people with such different physical ailments found each other here and understood each other so wonderfully. It was incomprehensible to me at that time. Today it is clear to me. It is the spirit of inner understanding that spoke here and brought people closer. A small proof of how true Christianity takes the lead, where spirit and truth override all physical weaknesses.
When I was 10 years old, I entered the boys' school in Bunzlau. No school bus picked me up or brought me back home. Walking is healthy, they said. It was just under one hour one way. Classes started at 8 o'clock, being late was very rare, much less pretending to be sick or staying at home. There were two routes I could use, the dusty road under the old linden trees or a forest path that led over the Drüsselberg and across the fields, which I preferred to take.
Saturday was no exception, we had lessons until 12 o'clock. - It was the usual market day and always interesting. Since my way through the city was not far away, I could not miss the market hustle and bustle under any circumstances. Oh, there was everything! In autumn there were the empty barrels with surely some pickled cucumbers left at the bottom that found in us boys grateful buyers. Such a tasty treat! – Even more interesting - the fair. All the things that were there to admire and marvel at, it offered everything that my heart desired. Whether cream, bananas, cookies, lollipops - or - Erdel shoe polish with the emblem of the Frog King! Oh, I stood and watched in amazement.
Before I knew what was happening, someone took me and swung me up high and onto the Frog King's throne. Hurrah, I am being served like a king's son. How that shone, the first shoe is done! But what do I hear shouting? "Finished! Now off the throne!". No, I think it cannot be. Where is the same splendor on the left shoe? I had imagined it so beautifully. - Shyly, half ashamed, I creeped along the street, one shoe so dirty, the other so shiny. What I experience here is a disgrace, could anything save the day? The way home leads through a lot of dust and sand. – But Look! It is hard to believe how quickly the shine of the cleaned shoe disappeared!
The bustling market came to an end around late midday, and the horse-drawn carts of the farmers and traders were on their way home. Maybe today was the day when I might get lucky enough to have an opportunity to hitch a ride or to swing unnoticed onto the back board of a carriage. - How beautiful it sat there! - But there! I hear the whip instead of on the horses - cracking around my ears! So the fiend had noticed me this time after all. Faster than jumping up was the leap down again! I succeeded better at the next carriage that passed by, even without “sticking out my thumb" and I was able to get a short free ride to the next crossroads that led me home safely.
How nice were the holidays! Helmut came home for Pentecost; we had not seen each other for a long time, there was a lot of news to report from the big city of which his youngest brother did not know much. After all, what did we experience in the village where hardly anything ever happened? For him, the man of the world, this was no longer a place to stay for an extended period of time. Something had to be done about it! "How about a trip and a hike in the Sudeten Mountains?" A wonderful thought, and the three of us agreed one hundred percent this time. Even mother thought it was a very good idea.
So the lads traveled across the countryside.
With their backpacks packed and a stick in their hands.
On the march we went to the little town and continued by train,
to the Sudeten Mountains we went, where the hike began.
The path led steeply upwards but then, what splendor!
On the ridge, past the spring where the Elbe river awakes.
Rest here, then continue until the sun sinks.
In between some cheerful song resounds.
A wonderful day comes to an end.
High above, in the next mountain hut we find peace.
Oh, wandering in God's nature, what a pleasure,
how full is the heart, how does it lift the spirit.
The next morning, we continued on our journey, over to the Bohemian side "Austria"; I am in another country for the first time. The path leads down through the Melzer Valley, through dark pine forests, - a rushing brook as our familiar companion, until we reach Spindelmühle in a friendly valley. And so we walk on and on, from place to place, until it was time to think about the return trip.
Two beautiful sunny days lay behind us. Once again our path led upwards and we passed the border stone back to our home country. From here we quickly descended down into the valley, to Hirschberg-Warmbrunnen - yes, we had made it! – From there the train was to take us home, tired from our days of marching and climbing. The station welcomed us.
Helmut had the money to buy the tickets. There is still plenty of time until the next train leaves. He steps to the counter to get our tickets. But arguments arise - as I hear: "Did we not know that the prices had doubled starting from the first of the month?!” How was such a thing possible? We only had enough money for one ticket. But no, that was out of the question, we have to stick together, no matter what; we had to march on. Inflation had thwarted our plans.
But what could be do?! Once again we took our hiking staff to hand. Oh, hiking, hiking through the Silesian countryside; this time tired and hungry, we made our way back home! The rucksack had become empty and much lighter, no bread, no bread spread, or fruit, only water to quench our thirst. Nothing was left over! - "Tired and the rucksack limp and empty." Finally, we could rightfully sing this journeyman’s song.
In the next store that we saw, we were planning on stocking up our supplies with the remaining bills. Our "bulk purchase" covered one pound of semolina flour, one loaf of bread, and 3 lemons. And nobody had any pity for us. No vehicle passed us, much less a car that could have taken us for a long stretch of the way. –
A sheepdog had been running beside us for some time. What did the animal want with us? Had it scented in Johann the compassionate heart of a good-natured animal friend? It did not leave his side. Even after it suffered an accident. How that accident happened while leaving the faithful animal still intact is truly a miracle. – The dog couldn't stand the streetcar that passed us behind Warmbrunnen. Before we knew what was happening, the deed was done! The barking animal disappeared between the wheels. Oh horror! Was that the end of him? I did not want to look. No, on the other hand, our friend came out alive again like a miracle, but with a badly limping hind leg as a sad consequence. What could we "hungry guys" offer the poor creature? He had adopted us and from now on did not leave us.
The sun was burning hot. To quench my thirst, I sucked my precious lemon once every 100 meters. Water was all we could offer our limping companion. At night, on a mountain slope where we made our first camp, each one wrapped in his blanket, he kept faithful watch. In the early morning, we boiled “semolina pudding”. Everyone got their share. Of course also “Prince”, who finished first. I couldn't serve him bones or sausage skins for dessert; for the near future I myself had to tighten my belt.
How endless seemed to me this 2-day march from village to village until we were back home with mother. And mother's first question was: "What have you guys caught there again and brought home to me? Does the big animal needs to be fed as well?". – Prince had recovered well after 3 weeks, then, suddenly, our friend had disappeared, never to be seen again. Had he started his journey home? Nobody could solve this question! Only one person felt happy and that was our dear mummy!
The winter in Silesia was harsh and bleak in some years. Yes, cruelly cold I would say today; when the first cold wave, this icy east wind, tore the last leaves from the trees. - I did not know it any other way. We children had adapted to the change of nature, the regiment during the course of the year. Although, it often happened that our regular life was threatened to freeze to a standstill by the merciless cold. The country life showed its pitfalls and dark sides.
The double windows had long since been brought down from the attic, washed, and put in place; a work that took a lot of time and effort, since all this had to be done from outside. We had collected beautiful moss in the forest and filled the lower part in between the two windows and decorated it with colorful straw flowers. Here the frost could not enter anymore.
The well, the only source of water, was wrapped with straw. But there, one morning nothing helped anymore; the pumping handle could not be moved anymore; it was stuck, frozen. Even thawing with hot water became useless. When this happened, then every morning the ice had to be cut open, and a bucket had to be let down in the depths of the well – with fingers freezing blue and stiff. –
Of course, it was not long until a great surprise came along during this daily responsibility of water scooping. Of course, it took two of us to carry the daily amount of water into mother's kitchen. Johannes and I were up for the task. The iron pumping handle was no longer of any use, it was stuck, immobile. "Why don't you put your tongue on the pump handle?" - says Johannes! And of course I do it! Oh shock - "caught, stuck". Quickly I tear myself free. Oh dear! A piece of tongue hangs from the handle and what a pain! How long would it last? Winter had found a new victim! –
In some years the cold lasted far into the spring. – School started early in the morning. And so I had to get up at 6 o'clock in the morning, because the way to school was no pleasure. The slow train did not run often and there were no other means of transportation. When the alarm clock woke me up and my mother called out once more: "Get up! It's high time!", I often found the upper beds decorated with ice crystal on the edge and the walls shone in their own splendor. There was no stove here that could have provided us with warmth. In an extreme case, mother would provide a hot-water bottle when we went to bed. I was hardened, and colds, which today one tries to cure with a hundred different patented medicines, were foreign to me. –
The walk home was sometimes even more terrible. How the east wind blew as soon as I reached the small hill at the brickyard. Even the old linden trees on both sides of the road groaned with a never before seen cold. When the breaking of the frozen branches resounded like a crack of a whip, and my face also threatened to freeze, barely able to cope with the onslaught, I knew how deep the barometer had sunk below zero. What luck, when a horse-drawn sled came racing towards me with jingling bells, that is, if the farmer let me jump on the skids, and in a flying gallop we moved towards the dreamy little village of Krauschen. –
No, there was no such thing as staying at home and pretending to be sick, and only a rare incident would have kept me away from school. The temperature in a harsh winter sometimes dropped to minus 28°C and it lasted for weeks. The ponds were frozen almost to the bottom and I could admire the frozen thick carp fish, frozen like dead, under the mirror-smooth ice cover.
If the frost set in in the moonlit nights in time before the first snow fell, then we didn't have to wait long and a solid, smooth layer of ice formed over the lonely ponds. I could hardly wait to try out the skates for the first time. Was the ice already strong enough for the upcoming winter sports? When it was no longer possible to break with my heel through the ice at the edge of the pond, nothing could stop me.
Hoarfrost had given the barren landscape a fairytale dress overnight. Yes, every tree and bush was full of glittering crystals. With the afternoon sun shining once again - there was nothing to keep me in the living room in this winterly splendor. I had to get out. The ice was already firm, and wonderful like a polished mirror. Only at the edges there were isolated treacherous places where you never knew what could happen when you jumped over them. Caution was called for, but still, a daring game.
During the game, during the hunt, one chasing the other, caution was soon forgotten. – And so we went in a big arch closer to the shore. Too close? - Who could have known: a sharp short cracking noise, and before I knew it – Sigfried was chest deep in the icy cold water. It was a stroke of luck that it was not any deeper. Struggling, I tried to grab and hold on to the next thing that I could reach near the shore and crawled out. I stood there, freezing and trembling like a wet poodle. What would mother say if she saw me in this state. Should I walk home? No! Mother must never know about this. I would never be allowed to go out on the ice again. So I stayed and did my laps and circles faster and faster to keep my body warm. But what did it help? I had to go home at some point, with this wet, cold, and guilty feeling that mother was not to know anything about this until I was able to reach refuge in the radiating warmth of our tiled stove. And, what otherwise hardly occurred, tired I longed this evening prematurely for my warm bed. –
I was used to the wetness on the ice, but this time I had brought too much of it home. But who hasn't fallen and slipped into the ponds that formed during the thaw, when the ice begins to melt? And especially when, despite everything, we continued our daring game. The ice slowly began to give way, like an elastically stretched blanket that rose and fell like the waves in the wind. Only a few dared to glide over it at a daredevil pace - the winter could not last much longer. From the window I see the first messengers of spring in the garden. - The snowdrops shone through the white blanket that buried everything else.
“Mietze”, the cat, belonged to the family and was loved by us all. Her black and white fur was too tempting to leave her alone, whether she wanted to or not. She felt independent and like the master of the house. Yes, sometimes I could not resist playing a little trick on her. She was a good mouser, but for this work she also made her extra "demands" for good food. –
Quite often we had salt herrings, mother's favorite dish. They usually stood on the kitchen table to soak overnight. "Wasn't there one missing? No, even two!" I hear mother say in the morning. "Did I not cover the bowl? or had I miscounted?" - It can't be. Later, she swept the kitchen and found two cleanly eaten bones far under the table! - "You minx, you have done it again! Get out, and don't let me see you here again today!" - The poor animal disappeared and suffered in silence. But children can be so evil.
I had wanted to play a little joke. A colorful ribbon and a little bag with something rustling in it. But this time that was too much what the rascal had attached to Kitty's tail! - Oh horror! What had I done, who would have guessed! With lightning speed, the dear animal runs out, up the lofty stairs, through the open window onto the flat roof and disappears in a bold leap down to the garden and further over the fence to the neighbor, where I find her frightened and full of terror in front of the back door. - After this devil hunt, Mietze had earned half a herring, and I learned: "Yes, never torture an animal for fun!” Nothing like that was allowed to happen again. Our pets were well looked after and our faithful Mietze especially. As she advanced in age she loved the warm places, her favorite place, the open oven. And it was here that she found her last resting place during a cold winter. –
During this time of chaos in the German economy, who did not long for a new order? It was to take years. The money - the ‘Mark’, had hardly any value anymore. The rising prices now took on astronomical figures. Bonds, mortgages, long-term money loans, and especially the savings, whoever still had some, were left with no value. Mother had, for example, lent a good friend in our village several thousand Mark in an interest-bearing loan, and 4 years later he paid it back! - It was barely enough for a few simple shoes that mother bought for me. When he got the money, he had equipped his business with new woodworking machines. What a difference in value! –
"You can’t go wrong if you learn a trade!" or “A trade in hand finds gold in every land!” A well-known saying as I often heard it during these weeks of choosing a profession. During my last school year there was a class for craftsmanship that interested me very much. I never missed an afternoon, even though I had to walk the long way to Bunzlau twice. - There were a number of real joiner’s benches and toolboxes where we boys could tinker and build with good instructions and make many artisan pieces. –
What did I want to be? I was now 14 years old, my school days came to an end and with them, the carefree years of my childhood. - The time for a decision was approaching. "What do you want to be when you grow up, boy?" Uncle Willi, as our legal guardian over us fatherless children, also had a word to say here in wise counsel, and often I heard the above mentioned "trade"-motto from him.
I liked to draw and was one of the best in my class, just like with the essays we wrote. To my discomfort, I was always one of those who had to read it out aloud. My drawing book was full of sketches that were the cause of great admiration. Why couldn't I continue to foster and develop such talent? How I would have loved to go to the State School of Ceramics, in modeling and design, a field that interested me very much. However, a longer apprenticeship in pottery and ceramics was also possible. Bunzlau was world famous for this. Unfortunately, we lacked the means for it and it would have been an impossible financial burden for our dear mother.
So many dice to roll for this important question for my future. "You will learn the carpentry trade, a practical profession like the one Johannes is already learning for the past 2 years with Master Bullotre in Bunzlau at the market square!” With this, my fate had been decided for now. A three-year apprenticeship contract was signed. –
My confirmation with the preparations and the weekly classes came at the same time. It meant something serious for a young human life. I looked forward to all this with mixed feelings. A new period of life was to begin. Was I ready to cope with life out there? Many unexpected things were about to happen to me. –
Confirmation
Three "teenagers" entered a classroom of the girls' boarding school, visibly anxious, shy and embarrassed; - the "Höhere Töchterschule" (“Secondary School for Daughters”) of the Moravian Church, where Pastor Grunewald gave us confirmation lessons. It was the first time that I entered the interior of this institute. - The girls were already sitting in their seats in a well-behaved manner, and we three boys, Johannes, Günter and I, had to sit in the first row in front of the 12 teenage girls so as not to cause any disturbances.
Where was there a better education than in these exemplary schools, where the utmost in discipline and education was observed. Unfortunately, it did not fail to happen that there were of course some hours during which there was a lack of proper attention when listening to and reciting the verses learned. – A faltering and quiet giggling behind our back. – Not that I dared to turn around; the look that checked us all from the front seemed too serious for that! Brother Grunewald took it seriously. I learned many sayings and verses from the hymnal of our congregation, which still today shine out anew in many a hymnal text and remind us of that time.
Then came the public examination before the assembled congregation. I thought I would sink into the earth, starting form the moment they called my name. Oh, this silence! When will this be over? Questions and answers in quick succession. - How it all worked out in the end - I do not know until this day – and I hear only the last words of Brother Grunewald: "Good. You can sit down.” The next was Günter; he felt the same, shy and uncomfortable; then followed Johann Siken, the oldest of us. We boys and the girls passed everything well, and were released with the blessings of the congregation.
The confirmation on Palm Sunday 1922 turned out to be a solemn and memorable day. Already the outward appearance - the first new, dark blue suit with "long pants"; how grown-up I looked at the age of 14 in front of the big mirror in the parlor. The stiff collar, even more so the dark tie, something quite unusual, always caused me trouble, never wanted to sit straight, gave always a cause for "suspicion". –
A new decisive period of my life began for me from that day on. I was equipped for the world outside, for what lay ahead of me, a world with all its temptations, its cunning, and treachery. – So many things from this time, many a Bible verse and saying remained anchored in my heart and became a blessing for me, even later, on the rough path of life. - My chosen confirmation motto said it so clearly:
"Not that I have seized it, but I chase after it to seize it."
Philippians 3:12
My apprenticeship began!
The day was long. 10 hours and usually longer on my feet. Oh, how much was demanded of a "general drudge". At the carpenter’s bench I learned the first practical steps under the guidance of another apprentice, with the jointer plane, the long plane, or the fist saw; here we learned everything from the ground up. And until I finished cleaning up the workshop, the town hall bell rang 7 o'clock in the evening.
There was little time for other things. - The nights, in a windowless, "dark hole" without fresh air, were hardly bearable. What had I gotten myself into here? How had Johannes endured this for 2 years already? The short lunch break at the Master family’s table was used on the side by us to fetch water or coals - 3 stairs up - and to do other household chores, which really had nothing to do with vocational training. Johannes and I felt like 2 rushed deer, always on the run.
Beneath the house was the wood chip cellar with the heating supply for the winter; a safe "hiding place" where nobody would have suspected me after lunch. Nobody neither sought nor found me there, and I could stretch out my tired limbs for a few minutes. Not often did I succeed to hide there, because soon the hunt began anew. Only in the evening could I find the longed-for rest. - "Boy, how do you look!?" I heard mother say when I first came home for the weekend. "Pale and thin". Yes, "Apprenticeship years are not Master years!" wasn't that the saying?
But I learned something and already had my place at a workbench, with all the tools I had to keep in first class condition. I had to make something on my own and at the same time help the journeymen. Those knew what they were doing, especially those that worked 24/7 to finish quickly.
How many beautiful oak veneered bedrooms and living rooms were made in the workshop there. Most of them went to France as reparations after a lost war. Large companies had been dismantled, so it was left to the small workshops to fill the gaps. The economic development progressed only slowly. There was not yet much to cover the demand. A new generation grew up to replace the millions that were killed in the great war. And on top of it, the inflation continued unabated. What today would cost a hundred Mark was for sale a week later at 10 times the price. –
And it was precious little what an apprentice received as a daily wage. Sometimes it was barely enough for a good portion of Slag sausage, which I gladly fetched for the journeymen from the butcher master at the corner of the market. Especially when the portion was too small for the required weight during weighing and a proper end for the full weight was added! - "The best end!" - Yes, that disappeared on the way back - into my hungry stomach. - Necessity is often the mother of invention. However, a lingering suspicion sometimes remained, especially when the journeyman, irritated, took the parcel with a questioning gaze and it suddenly struck like lightning, and he started to yell because of the "small portion" - but I quickly turned around without answering his questions to hurry back to my workplace.
These fellows, they made us work hard for them; I had to be there with a hundred and one hands. The wood-chip furnace was never allowed to go out, and the blazing heat radiated from it. There was no end to the veneering of large surfaces.
But never mind! We " drudges" also had our tricks and methods to settle one or the other score with these journeymen - our "tormentors" - especially with those who annoyed us the most. Very soon I learned to take advantage of their mistakes and weaknesses. –
Cleaning up the workshop after work was the last duty of the day that needed to be done and took its time. The journeymen stopped on time. Their "work clothes" did not always lie or hang where they belonged, the wooden shoes, the clogs, stood in one or the other corner. Should I still deal with this when I tidy up? - Nothing was further from my mind. I had enough to do. However, there had to be order, possibly with a little lesson, no matter what! - It was the journeymen who were the first to storm out before the bell rang and always arrived late in the morning, the last to arrive - we knew that.
The hot glue in the pot helped with a "good deed" – we glued the wooden shoes to the floor. When the Master came through the workrooms early in the morning, as he often did, and saw one of these "late" arrivals sneaking out again with hammer and chisel, he started yelling and raving next door until the clogs jumped out of the creaking wooden floorboard. Then we were in high spirits and gleeful about our deed. Of course, we enjoyed this fun, but woe betide if we had caught the "wrong" journeyman and his wooden clogs, then surely a moment would come when I would have to paying for this. –
Who will not fall from time to time into evil moods that can make life hell for his fellow men?! My Master was no exception. - I can still hear the excited voices from the next room sounding over to us. "He has once again gotten up from the wrong side of the bed!" one journeyman calls to the other. And quickly we started to hide everything that was not quite perfect and could give cause to raise the Master's wrath even higher.
It was sometimes the smallest things that led to a catastrophe among the apprentices. I will not forget the incident in the early morning hours when once again "horror" swept through the workshop. The victim that day was a young volunteer, the son of a large manufacturer from Breslau. What exactly it was that the Master's eye did not like on the workpiece was hard to tell; the prongs on a molding, a not quite tight joint, or did the right angle not match the wood grain? Whatever it was, he found it! –
I hear the usual thunder of his voice, like a sergeant, when, in his anger, the piece was swung up in a high arch - a bedside table - and it was flung down with a loud noise over the edge of the workbench so that the pieces flew everywhere. - A miracle that none of them caught me, since my workbench was standing close by. How Gerhard managed to put the cabinet in perfect condition once again amazed even the journeymen. He searched for each piece and glued it together for the second time. However, Gerhard the volunteer did not feel bound to abide by such methods; the following day his workplace was empty.
Machines for processing the wood were not yet available in our carpentry. This was done in the machine room of another company, that of Master Winsker, which was located at the other end of our town. It as not a very pleasant task when we apprentices had to drive the wood back and forth. It was the home of my schoolmate Fritz, I had visited him often and knew the workshop well; he now trained there and learned the same trade from his father.
The drive over the bumpy road downhill, as usual at an unstoppable speed, was no pleasure, especially when the heavy load on these two-wheeled carts started to slip backwards and the person in front, stretched like a horse between two drawbars, suddenly dangled in the air. There was no stopping! The whole load suddenly lay in the middle of the road. –
Hardly a week passed without a new incident causing some excitement. - "The drudge" had to jump and run like a dog. There were, for example, the journeymen's membership fees for the union to deliver. A long way on foot to the office. - When the door was opened, a vicious shepherd dog jumped at me and grabbed me by my left upper arm with his teeth. – It was not too bad; one could hardly notice a wound. "Did it go well after all?" - When I came back, I was told that there was a ban on free running dogs because of the danger of rabies in our district, and that I had to report the incident to the local authorities as soon as possible. The result, although there was no serious wound, was: "You have to go to the clinic in Breslau for observation and you will be given the dog's head for further examination. That was a serious statement from the journeymen!
I was overcome with fear and grief - indeed, I had to go to Breslau, luckily without the dog's head! and for 10 days I was a victim of many injections that were supposed to serve a purpose against rabies. - I remained healthy. - However, another "rage" was in my bones after these great days. The "biting sheepdog" was, as I heard, still alive with a young brood. So it was like that! The faithful animal had sensed danger for its young when I entered. "Logical dog mind!" - And I, of all people, had to be its victim.
It never really was very fast having to run back and forth to perform courier services for everyone. A bicycle was expensive; buying a new one was out of question. I had saved some money and bought a used one, my first own bicycle. In the long dark corridor at the cellar entrance the bicycles were safe and always ready. But this time - my bicycle had disappeared! Who was the thief? There! I just see someone disappearing through the front door with my bicycle. I think, this can only be my bicycle! Already he is gone! I don't need much thinking and quickly swing onto one of the parked bicycles. In high speed pursuit it goes across the market place. I see the guy just disappearing around the next corner, then he is gone. I follow him. He is in a great hurry. No wonder, the thief, I think, and gradually catch up with him. And indeed, it is my bicycle!
I yell at him: "You rascal, stop at once!" He stops, jumps off, and looks at me stupidly! "My bicycle! How dare you! Bring it back!" It turns out that without my knowledge, he "just borrowed" the bicycle for a quick errant in the neighboring town! How could I know that? It turns out he was a distant relative who was visiting the Master. That, however, explained this error of "theft". - There was a lot of laughter among the journeymen. Something like that quickly makes the rounds.
As a delivery vehicle, the shop only had this already described vehicle with its pitfalls. We often had the opportunity to deliver a new piece of furniture with it, to set up a bedroom, or an elegant living room in dark oak set off with walnut. A tip of "20 or 50 thousand Mark" with a new bank bill was no surprise to us in this time of inflation. - Who would ever have thought that we would one day have such generous assets. Already in the first year of my apprenticeship I became a "millionaire". Soon I owned one of the most interesting "money collections" of bills; towards the end the value went into the billions; although, the paper value was greater than the note imprinted.
In the summer of the second year of apprenticeship I had already learned this and that and was able to work, and many a beautiful piece was created. In any case, that what I thought. - The Master, apparently, was also satisfied with his youngest helper. But I noticed that he thought that it should go faster with me at times. That, however, was easier said than done, since I had to give the journeymen a hand at the same time, and, in the process, lost many a precious hour on my own work. The Master was only barely interested in that (or not at all!), and so, on one fine day, I stood in front of him: "How is it that you are not further along with the 2 oven benches? I will show you how to hurry up!" And so it began. – "Come down here, I've got some cutting to do for you!" - The "going down" went with my clogs, which I wore at that time, not exactly too fast, and on top of it the steep stairs to the yard! – “Up, and down again! And again, up and down! I will teach you how to run once and for all!"
And as fate would have it, - at that moment a clog flew off Sigfried’s foot, down the stairs in a wide arc, and closely missed the Master's head. The second clog and I followed it down the stairs! Oh horror, on top of everything. "You scoundrel! How dare you doing this?!" What could I do? I felt myself caught by the collar and flying against a pile of wood so that suddenly every rib and my shoulder that caught the most of the impact, hurt. – I was used to him continuing to rage, but I was not used to the pain in my shoulder; it wouldn't go away. I wanted to scream, and on top of it the inner outrage. –
I did my best at the workbench but I was not able to do the jointing on the long workbench in this condition. "What should I do now?" - "Why don't you go to the doctor," said one of the journeymen. – The next day, no sooner said than done. – And thus, a doctor heard what had happened to me the day before. - "Unable to work for two weeks," was the diagnosis. However, I had to go once more to my Lord and Master and report to him. - What would happen now? His look pierced me - not a word. I was amazed. The storm had died down completely. Had I gone to the wrong doctor? That was it, indeed! It turned out that Dr. Burman was his trusted family doctor. - What an embarrassment for him as I was to hear later!
The fall down the stairs, the woodpile, it was clear to me that no horse would ever have brought me back to this servitude. Although my good Uncle Willi, as my guardian, tried his best to settle the delicate situation in a friendly manner, my further stay here was impossible. My shoulder and a few ribs still hurt badly.
Very soon, after a few days, I found a new apprenticeship position in another company. No objection came from the Master or my guardian, and very soon after this short vacation I was standing in a company where I continued to learn and where I fulfilled my duty with joy. - Even mother was happy that this evil chapter had come to an end. –
What a difference I felt here with Master Hammer. It resembled the silence after the storm. Friendly, spacious, modern, this workshop was furnished in a modern way. He soon found out that Sigfried could work independently and was able to perform. That was fine with me. It was quieter here. Only rarely did he find anything wrong with my work. No more being hunted like in the old days, but even so, many a beautiful piece of furniture in light veneered oak wood was created. It was no longer the "working from scratch" that I learned here. I was assigned everything; finishing and veneering. The work here was done without the help of an apprentice. After a short time, I was able to work like a journeyman, and the last months went by very quickly. There was no more rushing and hustling. There was even time in the evenings and on weekends where I found the necessary balance with sports and games with my friends.
We met in our small circle of the YMCA for singing and music, but also for quiet hours, listening to the words from the bible, which also served for daily life and further strengthening of character. This is especially true in the years of the development of young minds. It gave me a hold and joy. We rode our bicycle to the big regional meetings, where young people from all parts of our district gathered. In Lauban, in Nyskie, here living Christianity was proclaimed. It left lasting values with me and many who gathered here around God's word. I got along well with our leader Hans Reuter, an old friend, as well as with Gerhard and Martin Vogt - youth companions with whom I had been friends since childhood. Fritz, the son of my master - I helped him where I could when once again something with his work didn't work out and no progress could be noticed. Otherwise a splendid fellow, he came regularly to our meetings and sports lessons.
Unfortunately, Günter did not belong to this circle. Nevertheless, we often came together. He continued to attend Secondary school and probably had to study hard all these years to keep his head above water. His talent was more in the musical field. Gifted on the piano, he loved the classics. We sat together for many hours, enthusiastic about his playing. When we had the time and opportunity, nothing kept us away from Bunzlau, the "city of good sound", to attend one or the other concert or even an opera performance.
This little town on the Bober river, it rightly bore this rare title. Here stood a pot made of clay, "which measures 30 bushels of peas". This small district town with its nearly 25 thousand inhabitants was also known as a health resort throughout the Lower Silesia region. It was a first rate place in regard to good schools and a number of educational institutions.
The favorable location in the midst of a fertile and successful agriculture, and especially the adjacent extensive forests of the Lower Silesian heath were a considerable advantage for the city administration. Old ruins of the weather-beaten city wall closed in a circle around the smaller core of old historical buildings, but already long ago it had started to stretch its arms far beyond. The moat has disappeared except for the Odeum pond. A green strip of park with lush tree growth has been created here and closed the ring of a dreamy world of interesting and old buildings. The pointed towers of the Protestant and Catholic churches and the romantic town hall of the district rise above it.
Many small potteries are part of the flourishing industry of a world-famous craft of ceramic products. A state technical school, the only one in this field in Germany, as well as a similar one for the glass industry. Both testified to the mineral resources of the area which were successfully processed in the versatile small and large companies. As in most medieval towns, the town hall was the center of the town with its market place, where the farmers drove their wagons loaded with products to the town early every Saturday morning, and the rolling of the heavy iron tires over the bumpy stone pavement could be heard far and wide.
Johannes had started his first training at an electrical company, but he did not stay long. What he learned during this time was later the beginning of an active handicraft work, which we both followed with eagerness and interest. "Radio" was still a magic word. “Transmitter-receiver”, one read and heard a lot about this, and after not too long a time, a handmade receiver was standing on the table. Helmut, at Siemens, got us coils, copper wire, magnets and other things that I could immediately use in our handicraft work.
In Krauschen hardly anyone had heard the word "radio". A crystal set with a coil was the simplest thing, a miracle. With it I received the first incomprehensible sounds in my headphones, broadcast from a Breslau station. New parts were ordered; a tube set with an amplifier was to become the next "wonder box". A high antenna from the oak tree to the mast attached to the chimney, produced better results very soon!
The first reception - what were those mysterious sparks - "static" escaping the antenna, a new miracle. Grounding switches had to be built in between. And then, suddenly, after a long search on the scale, sounds, music in the headphones! And a voice over the ether! Unbelievable!
Soon after that, I built a second tube machine - three tubes with amplification. The sound was wonderful! And everyone who came to me to "listen" was amazed. I was the only one in our town who could demonstrate such miracles. There were many curious guests in the evening and on Sundays. 2 headphones were not enough to go around and so I built a sound funnel as a loudspeaker, using an old field headset from outdated wartime stock. The horn, for amplification, glued from thin plywood, gave a good sound and resonance. Again, a great improvement! The voices were clearly audible in the room.
I now had the room that grandma used to live in. She still came in sometimes: But today, what was that? She comes closer, listens, looks around everywhere, is extremely surprised. "Where are those men who talk all the time?" She looks into all the corners, shakes her grey head and goes out again in silence. - What would our dear parents say if we could tell them about the flight to the moon and the like, things that even today seem incredible to many people.
Photography was still an art and little known among the people. I wanted to learn it, but how could I get such a wonder box? When I was a child, I always felt strange when my mother said: "Today the photographer is coming and will take a pictures of us". That meant putting on the best clothes, standing up straight in Sunday clothes, and conjuring up a friendly face. How could this happen with us 3 lively boys at the same time in one picture? That was an art in itself. Fortunately, it always succeeded, which today, after more than 70 years, the albums with many a yellowed picture bear witness to.
Such a black extendable box with a big lens on a tripod, where you had to hide your head with a blanket, count to 3 or shout "Attention!", found its way into our hands one fine day. Johannes had gotten this miracle box from a friend. A real antique piece, especially suitable for taking portraits. But it became an expensive hobby considering the large glass plates of 12x18cm, because a 35mm film remained a dream of the future. - "Postcard size" was the latest fashion, and so a frame in a reduced size of “Postcard size” was built. And see, after the first failures it worked after all. A push of the button, then quickly to the darkroom in red light, and finally the developing. The exciting moment, when slowly the first picture outlines appeared on the glass plate and then quickly fixed, dried and, if possible, still copied the first daylight prints on the glossy paper.
Soon word spread around our town into what artists the Ternow brothers had turned! - Many a pretty young lady, or an older one, embarrassed about their vanity, came in her "Sunday bests". "A dozen pictures, postcard size, nice and fine, from 4 Marks on, for young and old", soon became a good business slogan and provided, besides some fun, also some pocket change for us.
The time of the journeyman's examination came closer. As a practical piece of work I was assigned to work on a 3-part linen and clothes cabinet. A beautiful oak bedroom wardrobe. This had to be beautiful from the beginning. The cleaning and sanding of the individual surfaces before putting them together was never-ending. It had to be 100% perfect!
Finally, the heavy curved doors with the piano hinges were ready to be screwed on, the last work shortly before the acceptance. - Suddenly a noise - what was happening? - one of the doors fell against the iron spindle in the workbench. I can't believe my eyes! - A horror! - That too in the end! - A hole in the finished surface? I dare not look at it at the moment. This will certainly cost me 2 newly veneered doors, because one has to look like the other in its grain. - My first look! Terrible! It looked terrible; luckily it was not a hole. - Maybe the door can be saved! - I worked on it for hours, with steam and hot water, until my eyes were tired and many a drop of sweat fell on the door surface.
There were only 3 days left. The examiners were to come. - They came and everything was touched and looked at with sharp eyes. A miracle - nobody discovered the shadow, which even I only saw very faintly: this fateful spot on the right door.
In the end I learned something good from this terrible situation. And as the Master often said: "You can be stupid, but you must know how to help yourself!” - I passed the theoretical examination with ease. Plus, a drawing on a natural scale. I was the only one who showed a work-drawing and passed the test with ‘good’!
Master Hammer kept me in his shop for several weeks. Johannes had also found employment here for a short time. - But the unemployment increased alarmingly and did not spare me. Nowhere was anything to be found in my learned profession. No money and little hope for the future. The Master still owed me the wages of the last weeks! The shop was bankrupt. And besides, it turned out that Master Hammer had embezzled the tax money of the local church as a last resort, which was his downfall. - Now it was up to me to see from where I could receive my last wage. –
The unemployment benefit that was paid was not worth mentioning. Finally, a small ray of hope. Master Miller in Gnadenberg had something to do for me, but not for long. I searched the newspaper; it was rare that anything was offered here. A short advertisement captured my interest. But where was this place? Far away. Nevertheless, I applied and got lucky. It was a small business in Siegersdorf, almost two hours away by bicycle, train, changing of trains - more complicated than I had ever experienced. There were 15 other carpenters who had applied, as the Master told me. - Eight weeks of this back and forth tired me out in the end, and by that time, I had found an interesting job in Bunzlau at the "Toy Manufacturer Krause". For the first time I worked here by myself, independently. It was also only of short duration. This time it had its very special reason!
Helmut had successfully completed his 4-year apprenticeship as a precision mechanic at Siemens and Holske in Berlin, and, soon after completion, decided to emigrate. - "America" was the magic word; whoever heard of it, listened up! Unemployment offered a bleak picture. The economy had reached an unprecedented low; anyone who saw or found any connection or opportunity in foreign countries was taking advantage of it.
Beyond the Atlantic lay the "New World". The old had nothing more to offer to a young and aspiring person. So for Helmut the coming months after his departure were an uninterrupted adventure, like a novel. - The Port of Hamburg - departure as a stowaway on an old freighter - discovery - shipwreck on the coast off Glasgow, Scotland - back to London, and again on board a freighter - discovery on the high seas - and to work as "coal shoveler". - Panama the first country in sight, through the Channel and to the Pacific Ocean, to San Francisco. Here, the “unauthorized cargo” was handed over to the authorities but escape again in the end. - This is how it sounded in the first letters from America. - Some of them appeared in our Bunzlau City Newspaper.
Mother was relieved once she knew her eldest, whom she had not heard from for so long, was safe. - I was thrilled by all the exciting experiences; who could banish the urge of youth in me. The world was big and open. There, in the far distance, lay the land, the land of unlimited possibilities. - Should I also dare to do it like him? But where was there someone who could vouch for me? "A wishful dream". Why should it not come true? Once it had to become possible.
I learned English, in the morning and in the evening, as much as I found time. After all, the language was the prerequisite for success in a foreign country. Among my father's things there was a language course from "Tuss & Langenscheidt" in the bookcase. That was the right thing for a self-instruction. It began with the first sentences: "Marly was dead, dead as a door nail”, to begin with! Later I bought the book "Thousand words of English" which I also leafed through with great enthusiasm. Every minute was precious from now on to master the English language.
The emigrant
Many interesting reports reached us from the New World, and each one showed that Helmut quickly settled into everything. He was doing well. Mother was happy about it. She had spent many a sleepless night worrying about him before we received the first sign of life from the foreign continent. In the meantime, he had met a dear family and even wanted to try to find guarantors for a possible emigration of his brothers.
In the meantime, Johann had found work in Berlin, but would have gladly accepted this tempting invitation. A year passed and the plan of emigration for him was not to be fulfilled. This could not prevent me from continuing to seriously consider this idea.
My English made progress. An exchange of letters developed with the daughter of the house where Helmut lived, a new field of vision opened up before me, all in anticipation and excitement. A letter to the American Consulate in Breslau was successful, a day was set for me to be summoned. There was still much missing until it came to this. Would Mother also give me permission to emigrate? and let me go too? I was 18 years old, and I knew how attached she was to her youngest. - This was hard for her. But like all mothers, she only wanted the best for her boys. How far was America; there was little prospect of seeing her again soon. Grandmother stood next to her when we talked about it.
For many, America and Canada in the twenties was the only hope to find a new beginning in life. World War I and its aftermath, inflation, and unprecedented unemployment spurred anyone with the courage to take advantage of any opportunity to get out of this desperate situation. Happy was the one who found any kind of work, because an army of millions of unemployed was now sitting on the streets, living from food stamps. –
No wonder that during this time many of the younger generation took up the walking stick and tried their luck abroad. In their old homeland they had no more obligations to fulfill. Nothing held them back in their homeland. The proverb: "Stay in the homeland and feed yourself honestly" had lost its validity here. - My job in Bunzlau thus became my last before my emigration.
At home I used the time as best I could. There were still many things to improve in the house; who was to do it later? Brother Johannes was in Berlin. - I built a summerhouse with table and benches in the garden for the joy of all who came to visit us for a coffee klatch at Mother Ternow's, where it was always lively on Sundays afternoon. I even had a loudspeaker connected; there were garden concerts, something very rare these days. Time flew by - the last weeks filled with all the preparations kept me in full excitement and expectation for what lay ahead.
My friends came and went. Rudi Hübner, my old friend from our club, we were all together once again and enjoyed ourselves until the early hours of the next day. I celebrated my farewell. - Youth knows no worries. Here was still a home; it was something so natural! The new world in the far distance before me still strange and unknown. It wanted to be conquered.
It was not difficult for me to break away from my old life; but it was different for those who stayed behind: "Well, we will probably not see each other again.” I hear the dear old grandma say goodbye to me. There she sat at the window with the purring pussy on her lap, or the bible in her hand. She was a Christian woman, convinced of her faith since the time in Charlottenburg. Pastor Rohrbach, of whom she spoke so much, had been the turning point in her life. Many years ago, Pastor Rohrbach had emigrated to Chicago, where he had founded an active Baptist church. Mother often told me about this, too. And the old grandmother, she was right when we said goodbye.
My dear mother accompanied me to Berlin, where I was able to spend the last days with her and Johannes at our dear Aunt Edwina's house. Nobody wanted to let me go alone, and our dear uncle Paul accompanied me on the train to Bremerhaven. And as the old saying goes that was also in my dear mother’s heart: "Adieu my dear home country, dear home country adieu"!
In the early morning hours of March 22, 1927, the huge colossus, the "SS Berlin," began to steam away. Only now did I realize what I had left behind, my fatherland, to which I had owed everything so far. - I went on deck at dawn, facing the coast. It lay far behind us, veiled in the mist of the fog – and so the ship steamed ahead on its course.
How could I ever find my way on this great steamer? My third-class cabin was deep inside, but still above the water level. The long corridors divided by bulkheads seemed endless to me. I had a cabin together with 3 young emigrants of my age. We soon got to know each other while we exchanged our previous experiences and adventures. –
How many diversions were offered here on board. Every day I got to know different, interesting people. During games, at the table, or in the salon, in the evening at the dance, and I watched how quickly friendships were formed in this small world, which led to happy unions for some in the "New World". There was for example little Adelheit T. with her friend who stayed in New York; she wrote me many a romantic letter for quite a while. –
Wonderful and beautiful days, but also stormy nights with rough sea were not missing, where the next morning only half of the "seaworthy passengers" appeared at the breakfast table. I bravely kept moving and appeared bravely at every meal at the announced hour. Here there was good food and a lot of interesting things to observe! For the not seaworthy there was only one way left - the sacrificial walk to "Father Neptune" at the railing!
What a wonderful feeling to stand at the outermost point of the stern or bow and watch the approaching breakers, which lifted the ship in changing rhythms, just to let it then sink back the next moment into the deepest depths of waves as high as a house. Again and again I ventured out onto the deck to admire this force of nature, this stormy sea; a captivating visual.
There in the West, deep below the horizon, where the sun lost its shine every evening, lay the future. Ten days had flown by and the next morning I was to arrive in New York. The ship had reached its destination, Brooklyn "New York", what a panorama was revealed here. The next hours passed with excitement and expectation. We lay in the harbor and it took time until all emigrants passed the immigration controls. Only a few were still on board and I surely would come ashore soon.
But the afternoon passed and nothing happened. Why this delay? I was almost the last one on board. What was that supposed to mean? What was the reason? I received no explanation. Were my papers not in order? At last! A travel agent brings me the message: "We have not yet received the money for the onward journey to S.F. We must try to get in touch with your brother.” What now? Wait until the mystery is solved and stay in New York until tomorrow?
I had another late dinner. This time first class, where only the agents and customs officers were left. In spite of all the beautiful food I had lost my appetite in the meantime. I was supposed to stay in a hotel and everything else would work out. My two suitcases stood next to me. Finally, the agent came to me again: "Mr. Ternow, we just received the telegraphic transfer for your tickets.” Did I hear right? "Yes, if we hurry we can catch the 10 o'clock train that leaves from Grand Central Station to Chicago and you can leave today.” With the nearest available cab, the agent took me to the station. What a chase, what excitement, always so much excitement. Why did this have to happen? With a hearty handshake and congratulations my agent said goodbye at the train.
I now had time to think about many things, about the "experiences", the first in the New World. It remained a mystery to me until today. – I soon found that there were other passengers from the ship in the compartment. I sat next to a friendly German-American woman from California.
She knew so much about America, about "country and people", customs and forms of politeness, - "Bohemian villages" for a "greenhorn" as I was among the fellow travelers. There was no lack of entertainment here. She continued her lectures into the night, until I sank into my armchair and found the necessary rest!
New York, this cosmopolitan city with its hustle and bustle was far behind me. The fleeting impressions of the evening, the sea of lights, were replaced the next morning by the view over the vast distances of this vast continent. The train took 24 hours to get to Chicago and 3 more days to get to California. In Chicago we had to change trains and my last acquaintances left the ship. Some of them would have liked to accompany me further, further to the dreamland "California". Among them, little Adelheit whom I had met again in the train. –
The further we went now, the more infinite the country seemed to me in its size. - The train crossed vast areas - the Indian Reservations, where just 100 years ago the indigenous people and their chiefs roamed the vast steppes of their homeland, where the herds of millions of Buffalos grazed and roamed, who were later completely exterminated by the "White Man". –
Here the stories came to mind - the pictures and descriptions from the magazines and books about Indians. Which boy did not like to read these stories during his school days. The battles of the Indians with the government troops, the settlers, and the ever increasing advance to the West. Then came the "Iron Horse", the railroad, which did its work and cut a path across the steppe, and from now on gave the land a different face. Where are the Buffalo herds now, the Indians, the indigenous people? They now live here and there in reservations assigned to them.
What vast and immeasurable landscape. Barren, long stretches, unpopulated and undeveloped. Hours pass until the train finally stops in a settlement again. How contradictory are the impressions here compared to my home country where everything is close together; where towns and villages are literally grown together.
Whenever the train stopped, I had the opportunity for a short walk, to keep my stiff limbs moving. What lonely and deserted settlements of the Midwest. The friendly German-American was always there with stimulating conversations; never tired of explanations and interesting conversations about what happened here in the "Wild West" among the first settlers. Here, they had their own customs, such as, for example, "that the gentleman always stays on the outside of the street in the company of a lady to protect her from possible assaults”. - I immediately knew what she meant - and changed positions to the other side!
Two high mountain passes that the train had to cross brought variety. The Rocky Mountains, and later the High Sierras, made an enormous impression. I could not take my eyes off these gigantic and dizzying heights, sometimes right, sometimes left; ruggedly sloping cliffs that the train climbed in a constant ascent. Three hissing diesel locomotives to amplify the otherwise normal energy power, had to do their utmost here until they reach the top at the "Thunder Pass". – This pass is also a historical highlight in the history of America. The first pioneers who wanted to reach California on this route got stuck here in the winter of 18-- in ice and storm with their covered wagons, and most of them died. –
How different today; I am sitting in a comfortable compartment of a modern train, equipped with all comforts, while the view involuntarily glides over to a monument built in memory of these brave men and women up here. Only some of them reached their destination then, the sunny valleys of the West – today, the most fertile areas of California.
The train rushes through small villages, down the valley, the first palm trees of the south line the streets here and there. It is not far now, soon we reach the next town, it is the capital Sacramento. A last, short stop, then only a few hours and the destination, the city at the Golden Gate, was not far away. Helmut would definitely be at the train station - so the thoughts went through my head.
A few minutes had passed, the train was already moving again. I looked up! – And suddenly, there, he truly stands before me! What a joyful surprise of the reunion! I would never have thought it. He had used the early train to meet me already on the trip. What a joy to see a trusted friend and brother again. For him, too, it was a happy experience to know a piece of the old home country in close proximity.
1685 Sutter Street became my permanent residence for a number of years. A small furnished room overlooking an inconspicuous back garden with flowering geranium bushes climbing up a fence; a splendor that could only be found at home in small flower pots on mother's windowsill. Helmut's room was next door. The McManaman family - grandmother, mother and daughter - lived in the lower part of the small house. 2 captain's widows who took care of the household. –
Three days later I found work, very close by, at an interior decoration company, just a few minutes away from my apartment. It turned out that I met a number of German comrades here in this company that was run by 4 partners: Martin, Schmidt, Lengfeld and Baldauf.
Apartments
1685 Sutter St. Mrs. McManamann S.F.
402 Cole St. Mrs. Dykhnizen S.F.
485 Douglass St. Rudolf Mordhorst S.F.
4356 – 18th St. Arthur Robinson S.F.
528 – 4th Ave Keith Harvy San Bruno
56 Church St. Keith Harvy S.F.
Business Addresses
1505 Sutter St. A.F. Marten Co S.F.
344 – 6th St. S.W. Ternow S.F.
310 – 7th St. S.W. Ternw S.F.
English Translation – part 2 (pages 1 – 39)
A year and a half had passed since my last visit to my homeland. And again I was seized with great longing, especially since Helmut had invited me to his wedding. It came a bit sudden, and unfortunately I could not attend the ceremony. Nevertheless, I decided to go at the end of April ‘39. And so it left again happily towards home, this time with the beautiful fast steamer "Bremen". How happy they all were and especially mother, she did not have to wait so long this time.
But what was one of the main reasons for my so sudden trip to Germany? I wanted to try my luck once again. This time, I had to find the "right one" who was meant for me! A faithful girl as I saw her since last year before my inner eye through many dear letters and greeting cards.
We had made an appointment; and so it happened. - Braubock on the Rhine was to be the meeting place. I reached Koblenz, and from here it was ony a short distance upstream by steamer. How cheerful it was on board - wine and song - it was not so long ago that I had experienced the same cheerfulness. But this time I had a goal! I wanted to find a "treasure", which was hidden in the "Felsenkeller", an inn in the shadow of the old knights' castle - the Marksburg! There the castle stood, proudly up high on the mountain, and greeted me. And there I was, how fast the steamer stopped. There, I picked up my suitcase, the bell sounded "departure". No, that was impossible! And there the steamer left again, at a brisk pace, over to the other bank of the river and on to the next village. - How could I have missed my destination? Now I had to get out. Waiting impatiently at the railing, I was now the first to jump ashore; I reached my destination, a little late, but without further incidence.
I stayed in a pretty inn "Zum Kaiserhoch" where I took a room. Where was the Felsenkeller? - A nice walk through the main street of this beautiful medieval town and the big archway led my way uphill. A little further to the right and I was standing in front of an old but inviting inn with large letters "Zum Felsenkeller". So this is where she stayed - would I be expected? I enter, full of expectation, and inquire. "Miss Busch is not here at the moment, but will be back soon", should I wait here? No, there is a nice short walk through a flowering chestnut alley up to the castle. What a small romantic town this is; a beautiful view from above, and further, over the mighty river. It was beautiful here indeed. And so, full of a slight excitement, excitement and expectation, paying less attention to the blossoming nature around me than just following the one thought - is it her or isn't it - I stood again in front of the gate of the Felsenkeller. Ms. Busch, who had also returned from a walk, was in.
What thoughts moved two human children at such a moment, when they suddenly stood opposite each other in friendly greeting? Words fail and cannot describe it. So that was Gerda. Yes, first a slow exploration and getting to know each other, the first friendly and at the same time thoughtful and exploratory looks that moved from one to the other and tried to look into the heart of the one opposite. - Is it really her, or just a dream?
We spent the evening at the Kaiserhof. There was a cheerful atmosphere. Now she knew what this globetrotter looked like, how he presented himself and behaved. Would we really understand each other "at an already advanced age of 31 years"? Was here the girl I had wished and hoped for? The first afternoon and evening could not decide that. Anyway, Miss Busch was a lovely girl, even if not – let’s say ‘a beauty’ like the "dolls" you saw “playing around” in the USA. Here was a character hidden, somebody who knew exactly what she wanted. – In general, she might have been a bit too sheltered by her home life, after all, she was the only daughter, but that had its advantages.
A Christian faith, a good upbringing, love of nature; I soon noticed that there was a common understanding between the two of us. And there, that mischievous look that soon - very soon, revealed more to me; when the dark brown eyes could no longer stand up to mine and suddenly, with an embarrassed yet so interesting back and forth rolling, tried to hide something! - What must have gone through her little head! I remember these encounters very well. It had to be something deeper and more familiar, and I liked her very much. – I confess, it was not the falling in love at first sight. This feeling was hidden deeper and took its time to unfold into full clarity.
I now moved into the Felsenkeller inn. Here we dined together daily and explored the surroundings on hikes along the Rheinhöhenweg hiking trail. A time full of sunny days followed; one afternoon, the path led us through vineyards on the mountain slopes to an abandoned bower covered with vines. - Wasn't it there on the mossy bench where we sat down when our hearts opened wide and “Miss Gerda” became a radiantly smiling "Gerdchen", with a golden heart and a "lock of hair" hidden in it? - Yes that was a wonderful time.
We belonged together, it was meant to be, and life and the future shone in golden happiness. God had led our paths in such a wonderful way until here. Although there were still many difficulties to be overcome that we could not have known about at that time. I recognized it as a coincidence from above that took place in my life.
The vacation came to an end; Gerdchen had to think about the journey home. Our trip led us together as far as Cologne. Then our ways separated. Goodbye! The goodbye was not easy. Half a day lay ahead of us and the city of Cologne offered so much that we were still allowed to see and experience together. One train after the other in the direction of Wuppertal left the city without Gerdchen. It became later and later, the parting became more difficult - too difficult. "Soon we will see each other again" was the last greeting, and the 10 o'clock train disappeared in the darkness of the night.
"Another happy time followed 8 weeks later in the Harz Mountains. Here in Wernigerode, this charmingly situated health resort town, there was nothing that could have disturbed our happiness. Our rooms were located in a private house on a mountain slope with a view into the distance, and we went on daily hikes on many a path that I still remembered. But how much nicer it was this time, with a beloved girl at my side.
Up over hill and dale. - Yes, wandering through life into the wide, wide world beyond! How differently everything shone, how bathed in new light, nature lay before us and more beautiful, with every experience, the following days - the world - became for two happy people. - But our goal for perfect happiness was still a long way off - so for the time being we had to wait patiently until our common steps led us there.
These short vacations of happiness, enjoyment and learning to understand each other passed too quickly and the farewell on the last day - who knew when we would meet again - was unforgettably difficult, with regard to the future, for both of us. – A last kiss, a farewell, a wave from the window. - To the West the train rolled. - There I stood, abandoned, lonely, until it vanished from view. Then the next express train came, speeding eastward, back to Silesia. –
Uncertain, exciting, oppressive sultriness weighed over everything. The dark clouds on the political horizon of the East took on threatening forms. Too much had happened since Hitler's "seizure of power", which began with the reoccupation of the Rhineland. And the last event, the annexation of Austria, had caused great unease among the heads of state of Europe and America. There was still a calm - the silence before the storm that would soon shake the world view in all its fugues. The eastern situation looked very precarious. Was there still hope for a way out? A pressure of uncertainty weighed on everything.
I, too, could no longer free myself from it. A time of restlessness came over me, a feeling of inner conflict as I had never experienced before. It became clear to me that I lived in two worlds, and I alone could decide where I belonged! Should I stay here and give up all my relationships with my second home and wait and see what happens here? Where could I even think of pitching a safe tent here for two happy people? Thousands of questions went through my mind that neither I nor anybody else could answer. - I had to come to a decision. - It was my most difficult decision. - Back to California.
I left home for the third time. This time it was harder than ever, because I left a dear girl behind. How long - how long? Could I even know when we would meet again? On July 17, ’39, again on the high seas on the SS Bremen. The atmosphere on board was not as I was used to. The most impossible stories were told; what could you believe? Was war the last resort after the collapse of diplomatic negotiations between peoples? It was not yet there. After a few days, the SS Bremen docked in the port of New York. And after a 2-day stay and visit of our former neighbor Galles in New York, I continued on the train journey, which always seemed so endless to me, back to S.F. This time I was tired and inwardly full of restlessness.
After my short absence of 4 months, I found a substantially changed picture here as well. In my field of work it did not look promising. Gus Franks had shared his business interests with another young artist and thus, had brought about a complete change in our joint activity. I had not expected this. We parted ways. – From now on, I could act as I pleased and I did not feel obliged to anybody. The main part of my work remained successful, even though a lot changed.
I felt everywhere the tension, an uncertain waiting, a nervous anxiety, like on a beautiful hot August day before the outbreak of an ominous thunderstorm. And then it happened. This 3rd of August 1939, the beginning of the Second World War, was to completely change a peaceful world view. The news of the Blitzkrieg, the invasion of Poland by the German armies. The reports from Europe were coming in rapid succession. The Allies issued an ultimatum to Hitler and demanded an immediate withdrawal of troops from Poland - or declaration of war! – Three days of extreme tension. News and special reports, one overtook the other. France - England - was it to come to this point and expand into the greatest tragedy in world history?
There was still a pale glimmer, a faint glow of last hope. Hitler's armies had already penetrated deep into Poland towards Warsaw. A last call in 12 hours fell on deaf ears. – And thus, this August day became a historic, unforgettable one in the history of the world. - From now on, events happened rapidly from day to day. The peoples of the earth were no longer at peace. This war, with all the sufferings, wounds and destruction that followed in its wake, began to shake the world in all its fugues.
1939
There were no limits to Hitler's madness.
It was a sunny morning, midsummer weather. I was just on my way downtown towards the corner of Market and Paul Street. A central point in the midst of the colorful, busy hustle and bustle of never-ending traffic, as typical here as anywhere else in a metropolis. Once again the paperboys were screaming at the top of their lungs like a choir "Extra, Extra!” What could it be this time? "War - war - war declared against Germany!"
Unbelievable! Impossible! So after all! I felt as if someone had dealt me a blow. - My senses were spinning. I was staggering like a drunk among excited people. Where was I? I saw people with frozen expressions on their faces - everyone who did not know it yet or had not yet heard it on the radio wanted to read it in the special edition. Clear thoughts had come to a standstill in my mind. - Was now the last glimmer of my hope gone? In vain - what one had hoped for, longed for. The demands for an armistice had finally failed. This most horrendous thing took its course, could no longer be averted! War broke out all over Europe.
And so weeks and months followed, filled with news that put every German abroad into a nightmare. And how quickly the mood of a people changed amidst a well-organized propaganda that did not stop from doing everything to keep the people in a state of frenzy. Oh, how clearly this smear campaign now became visible, especially with the interests of the "war and arms industry" as a background. A golden age was now dawning for them. – The more destruction, the greater the upswing to greatness, wealth and power - crowned by the almighty dollar. - A man had to be blind and deaf not to recognize where it all would lead.
The Germans of America, whether citizens or not, had to endure this storm. The hatred against the "German Barbarians" showed no consideration. To defend oneself against this assault was futile and would only have had worse consequences.
Germany still had diplomatic relations with the Unites States. But it did not help. The voices were becoming louder, the inflammatory articles of the time increased. General conscription became law and became fully effective upon registration. Every young German had to expect one day, possibly in the not too distant future, to go to war against his own brothers. This thought alone was constantly on my mind, was something mentally grueling - I had not foreseen this or ever thought I would be put in this position.
A war between the States and the Third Reich now seemed inevitable. Had I placed my bet on the wrong horse? "Do not stay here under any circumstances" was the thought that would not let me rest day or night. A travel ban to every warring country in Europe now also came into effect. My passport was invalid. At the most, there might be the possibility to return to the Reich via Italy.
I contacted a company to take over the import of antique furniture from over there. Time passed, the plan matured, when suddenly Italy was also standing as an "Axis partner" at Germany's side in the middle of the war, thus destroying the last bridge back across the Atlantic for me.
The European theater of war expanded further and further! What did the non-aggression pact between Russia and the Third Reich mean that was suddenly signed by Stalin and Hitler? Was there now for me a way to Europe via the far east of Russia, Siberia? I had heard about it! But this thought seemed to me too fantastic and unbelievable.
A sultry atmosphere lay over everything, but so far, everything was still running its usual course. – After all, it turned out that there was still hope for a return to the fatherland in case the war would last for years. America still stood apart from all the wrestling in Europe. For how long? It was only a question of time that America would decide one way or the other. - The die had long been cast behind the curtains in the White House whether or not to intervene in the war. They were only waiting for a favorable and appropriate opportunity, a deception to justify such a decision to the people. Careful propaganda was running at full speed and made sure that this was done.
In this turbulent time of confusion, the German Association offered the only refuge, like a quiet oasis, where we tried to keep up the atmosphere and the usual German Gemütlichkeit. At our weekly meetings, the German songs still resounded in the choir and the one or other bottle of wine made us forget and helped us to free ourselves from the pressure that was otherwise on everything.
The first German ships, including the passenger ship "Columbus" were already in the Eastern ports and the crews were interned. The crew of the Columbus was to be transferred to S.F., at least that is what was said! - Indeed, there they were, after only a few weeks. We were soon allowed to welcome them to the German club and entertain them! - This often happened at the weekend, when they were allowed to leave the Angel Island camp. - Some friendly relations were quickly established. They had so much to tell us about the events of their last trip from home. There were the officers, officer cadets, technicians, and ship engineers. We soon called them our regular guests. They all hoped for a quick return home. But how? At the time, the picture was rather hopeless, little hope for a quick end to this miserable war; although in France, after the invasion, the occupation by the German armies soon came to a halt.
It did not fail to happen that, due to the war events that broke out so suddenly, many people missed the connection for the return journey to their homeland. Many an interesting experience was reported by a familiar German travel agent. Everyone had a different plan. It gave me a new view (of the possibilities) that I had not considered before. – I learned a lot about things that only a consul or a diplomat knew how to avoid or how to remove obstacles. With this connection, a path slowly appeared in front of me that would lead to my goal. I managed to obtain an alien's passport. I became "stateless" and thus, a way was open for everything that would happen. And so, with new confidence, I could now prepare further things calmly and with careful deliberation.
Rudi and Marta were the only faithful here who knew of my plans. During the last weeks I lived in their nice home. It was a "home" of refuge. Coziness and warmth poured out here and helped to overcome many problems and difficulties in this most difficult time.
Yes, there was still a possibility to return to the homeland despite many obstacles. Finally the time had come and I could convey this development of my situation to my loved ones who were waiting at home. Because of an already strong censorship and the opening of the mail to Germany, caution was required. But the main thing, a regular airmail service, was still in place. – There was a dear girl that was waiting with excitement for any news, even if, for the time being, there was almost no chance to see her again soon.
Her picture on my little table, the faithful look in her eyes – every time I looked at this picture, it gave me new courage and strengthened my belief that everything would turn out well. The belief in the future, yes, that my life is led by the One who rules over us from up there. Was it not He who helped me now as so often before? Was it not a proof of how good advice and loyalty, despite all obstacles and unforeseeable difficulties, led everything to the best in my life?
The summer of 1940, full of world-shattering events, was behind us. Autumn with its fast parting, a colorful glow in nature, a quiet dying and last breath was above all. And here, in the war, in world affairs, the last flicker of reason, the last hope and all efforts that could have otherwise led to the unification of the peoples, once again was extinguished.
In the meantime, I had quietly taken care of several issues in preparation, including the first down payment for my finally fixed travel plan across the Orient, Russia, Siberia - halfway around the world. October 24 was set as a fixed date for my travel plan. The Japanese flagship "Asama Maru" was to leave the port of San Francisco on that day. It was a beautiful passenger ship that regularly crossed the Pacific Ocean from Japan.
Everything went well so far. Two heavy suitcases, packed, they were checked in separately. An exit permit from the tax office - always important - and more importantly, the tickets that for now were up to Yokohama, were securely stored in my coat pocket. And so I went on board on this memorable day.
I had to say farewell to my dear friends, the old faithful ones. The last greetings and a farewell. The landing stage disappeared. The long, colorful ribbons fluttered through the air and came loose - the harbor was a familiar place after all these years of professional activity. I knew every passenger ship that passed through here. Especially the Robert Dollar Fleet, here, where every Friday one of these steamships set course for the West.
Today, I myself was one of those who stood at the railing. Once again the "Fare well!" sounded from over there and then, first slowly, then faster, the steaming heartbeat of the engines began, and amidst the stunning roar of the sirens, like three cheers, the last greeting from land disappeared.
Was it a parting forever from this continent? At that time, I was almost convinced of it. - How much was hidden here in these past years – much good and many evil things had come with the time. Whatever lay behind, it had enriched my life tremendously. America, it remained the land of unlimited possibilities.
The thoughts, they wandered back again, as so often when we reach the next milestone in our lives. I walked slowly, like a devout person, fully filled with all that I had experienced here in the past, towards my assigned cabin. - In this labyrinth of long corridors and steep stairs, it was no wonder that I only got to my new quarters after quite some time and detours.
I could hardly believe my eyes when I entered the cabin. Here, as well as next door, it was loud and lively. Was I in the right cabin? Did I not know this one and that one? There, the familiar faces, the German language, was it reality? I could hardly believe my eyes and ears. – What was going on here? Were those not our "regulars" that I was allowed to welcome to the German club just last week? And now here, what a surprise of a sudden reunion! There stood the German officers of the interned crew of the SS Columbus. Questions and answers were superfluous at the moment - only astonishment! They had achieved it. So that was it- in calm perseverance and silence they succeeded in doing what would otherwise not have been possible for a German interned officer – to return to the Reich. The latter would be a valuable reserve for the war of the Wehrmacht and the fleet. - And there, how did the other young lads get on board the ship? "They were our porters," it was said to me with a smiling face. "They will stay on board with us!" And so the case was closed.
Thus, in a short time on this sea voyage, a small, closed community of about 16 fellow travelers was formed, among them a Dr. from Austria - an officer, a landowner and his wife from East Prussia - stranded in the USA, who finally took the opportunity to make a long detour to return home.
The crossing via Honolulu to Yokohama went smoothly and without incident. However, in the state of war (and especially at the beginning of the submarine warfare) surprises were to be expected. - It was well known that submarines were already lurking near all the busy sea routes and were sighted even further away. As I learned later, a submarine of the US fleet had accompanied us for several days. It took the same course. What was the reason? Japan and the States were - for now and until after the incident at Pearl Harbor - still neutral in the war, which was soon to spread further around the world.
Land came into sight. An always welcome moment. Yokohama, home port of the "A. Maru", was soon reached. A harbor I had gotten to know well during my most recent adventures. In Tokyo, I stayed for a week in a hotel close to the Imperial Palace, where travelers and transients were catered for in every comfort.
The first sign of life, a telegram, was sent from here with greetings to the homeland – “Landed in Japan!”
A lot had to be done for the continuation of the journey, and the German consulate provided an exemplary service and was always available to answer any questions. To be on the safe side, the suitcases had to be provided with a crate for further transport especially through Russia; things I had not thought of.
The biggest part of the journey was still ahead of me. So it was advisable to check everything once again. The passport, all personal data for which the consulate was responsible. Also the tickets through Russia could be picked up at the consulate in Yokohama. - There, a new problem suddenly appeared. "You cannot possibly travel through the Soviet Union with a foreigner's passport," I was told. What now? "Come back next Friday, we will issue you a German Reich-passport." It took a load off my mind to know that everything would be taken care of. And so, shortly before the start of my next leg of the journey, I received a new passport for unhindered travel through the Soviet Union. – Now everything was cleared up. We compared our passports – but then Mr. Babbi asked me if there wasn’t a signature missing. Had something been missed? Yes, they had! Was it an oversight on the part of the authorities or was it of no essential importance? Surely everything was in order...
The next day, the journey continued by train. My stay in Tokyo was over. In the meantime, we had also learned what had happened on the high seas shortly before we landed in Yokohama. - An exciting report, especially for some of the German officers when they heard about it. Soon after departure from San Francisco, it was officially noticed who was aboard the 'Asama Moru' - fugitive, interned German officers! It was even in the press the following day after our departure. Thus, a last-minute attempt to put an end to this escape had been given careful consideration. - Too late! It did not succeed. – Japan, in a neutral state, showed no interest or support for such a coup and called it off. Another attempt to restrain the escapees in Tokyo also failed. Thus, the journey continued smoothly and without disturbance for most of the "interned crew".
The train ride through Japan was quite varied. One village followed the other in this densely populated island world. A hard-working people; always in the national consciousness were the achievements they have accomplished in the last century.
Hiroshima was passed by train. One after the other - small and large cities and industrial centers. Who would have thought at the time that the decision to end this enormous war of nations would be made here, when the first atomic bomb on August 6, 1945, triggered an unprecedented wave of destruction over this city, killing over 30,000 people in one fell swoop.
Shimonoseki, a small port city on the northwest coast of the Sea of Japan, opposite the mainland of the Asian continent, became the last stop on this lively island world. I would have loved to stay here a little longer to see more of the country and its people and its ancient culture, the old temples; almost on every hill one can find the buildings of the Buddha or Shinto religion.
The crossing to Korea (currently still under Japanese rule) took only a few hours. I reached Busan. A short stay of one day, and then I went on with the Express, a modern equipped train, through South and North Korea. A people of their own, small in stature, slit eyes, betray the descent from an ancient Mongolian race. Eyes that never betray what their character is hiding inside. The climate in the southern part is very pleasant; fertile plantations of mandarins and other citrus fruits extended far over a hilly terrain. The capital Seoul was soon reached. - At that time there was still peace and quiet here. Communism had not yet stretched out its greedy arm to this country.
The further north, the cooler it became. Snow for the end of November in the north of the country is also not uncommon. Unfortunately, I had not prepared myself for this change. At the border crossing to Manchuria there was already a degree of cold, completely unfamiliar to a southerner, a resident of sunny California. - It got even worse when I reached Harbin. Snow and ice and the Siberian cold of the north had no mercy on me. The overnight stay here in a hotel with frozen toilets and whatever came with it, left me not with the best impressions. And the train continued, hissing, northwards and finally reached the border station Manzhouli, Siberia, USSR. – And Berlin was still a whole continent away.
Manzhouli
Siberia! I was on Russian territory. I was received by border officials and two "Intouristas"*5 who were assigned to our group from here on and were supposed to take care of our "well-being" and everything else that followed. It did not take long and we could tell from the sentences of their broken English that our journey here was to experience an unpleasant interruption for the time being. " A stay" - why, what for?
Had I understood correctly? - Hard to believe – we were told that there had been a "plague" outbreak in Manchuria. Why hadn't we learned of this swindle before? And now I was to be suspected of having introduced the plague into Russia. 14 days quarantine, 14 days stay, they said, for further observation! We were assigned 3 sleeping cars for our quarantine.
But first, I had to undergo a thorough disinfecting bath. No outrage or protest served any purpose here or could avoid this. Outside it was bitterly cold. The thermometer showed minus 30°C. A primitively furnished room was intended for this purpose. Everything resembled more a delousing station. In an anteroom I was told to "take everything off", and my cloths disappeared likewise for this alleged disinfection (i.e. examination). Only the toiletries for the most makeshift use remained. Everything, even the luggage, we were told, goes through this process of "thorough cleaning". No part was spared here that was not turned inside out and examined.
With what should I dress myself in the meantime? - Finally, having escaped this hot, stinking bath of chemicals, everyone received a bundle of clothes, a thin robe, like a night dress. Dressed in these scanty clothes, it was now time to march through the icy cold outside into the cars, to our quarantine stay. At the moment I was frozen to ice. No wonder what followed in the next days. - What kind of deserted place was I in? What was the meaning of all this? Russia - where was the workers' paradise? –
The windows in the car in which I tremblingly found refuge from the cold, were heavily iced, hardly a view at the desolation out there. - A pack of half-wild pigs seemed to be running wild and free, unlike us. A pile of left behind, partially torn bags of grain – opposite our wagons - was a real treat for the pigs. Who took care of such things here? Very soon we also received our first rations. Very good food even! A miracle! Dark bread topped with ham, as good as is only known in Westphalia, and tea from the "Samovar". The Russian loves it sweet.
A nice female doctor was also on the spot, who regularly took care of everyone in the morning and in the evening. The temperatures were measured religiously. To my horror, I developed a strong cold after this first "Siberian walk in light night dress", as I had already suspected I would. Unfortunately, it turned into a bad cold and persistent fever. I became afraid I would get stuck in this mess. Days went by. I tried as best I could to hide this miserable condition by having the thermometer always show "normal condition", especially in the evening. After all, there were tricks! It got better and everything turned out well, and I could be thankful from my heart that I had been saved from a worth fate.
A new transport was supposed to arrive in the next few days, we were told one evening, and we could then - with the condition "healthy" (no suspicion of plague) be released immediately. We were lucky that the announced transport arrived earlier than planned. Although we did not get in touch with the passengers, we recognized them. They were the last remaining people from Tokyo, who now had to obey the same orders because of suspicion of plague. However, two attachés from the German embassy also arrived and would travel on with us "without a stay", and also two “Intouristas” who "kept us company" as constant companions on our journey through Russia. I also learned more about the failed internment attempt back in Tokyo. Fortunately, that was behind me. What would come next?
Finally, after 10 days of persevering in this desolate situation, there was movement again, the transport continued. The incessant, rattling beat of the wheels - it sounded like music this time. I sat in the Siberian Express, overcome by a relieved feeling; sighed a new breath of relief. Finally, onward! The train rushed through endless steppes, then again through impenetrable forests. Loneliness lay over the whole thing. The miserable huts at each station tried to liven up the bleak picture a bit. Pitiful nests; who could live here in this desolation? Siberia, much had already been written about it. It remains the tragedy of the Russian people. The impoverishment, as once under the rule of the tsars - never ending. And so the misery of the millions, condemned under the slave rule of the brutal communism that existed since the beginning of the revolution of 1918, continues to the present day.
How do these people live here? They vegetate. Thousands had never known it any other way. You could feel it when you saw the poor creatures that appeared every now and then when the train stopped. Faces without expressions stared at me and offered their meager goods to the passengers. A roasted chicken or whatever the current season offered in agricultural products. This often repeated itself. There were always armed guards standing close by, or walking up and down with a watchful eye and hand on a rifle with bayonets attached. One finally got used to this sight. For decades Russia had been waging its own war inside the country, against all the laws of free human rights. - Nobody could free himself from this feeling.
For the most part, the train was occupied by soldiers. There were always some who were understandably interested in us foreigners. When the air was "clear", that meant that they felt unobserved by others or, even worse, an Intourista, then one of them came too gladly into my compartment to find out what happened on the other side of the border. And so we told him. But what he knew and could tell us was very little. One noticed very soon that everything that was spoken here was part of one and the same scheme. Was it the Marxist education or rather the fear of an always lurking - "enemy is listening" - that never really let to a real conversation? The shadow of an “ever present listener” accompanied me from the beginning until the end of this 10-day trip through Russia and never disappeared.
Everyone had already had to hand in their passport at the border station in Otpor, with the explanation that it would be safer this way and we would of course get it back when leaving the USSR! Thus, every traveler was with body and soul in the hands of an unpredictable state system. This rule alone explained much. Even the slightest deviation from our prescribed itinerary would have been the individual's undoing.
I soon learned more about it, this in conversation with our 2 accompanying diplomats from the German Embassy in Tokyo. We visited each other in our train compartments. For them, this trip was not a special event. - Rather routine since the war broke out. They were more attuned to the circumstances and better informed and could give us news that only a few knew, things that were only suspected; they could give us explanations in many a highly interesting conversation.
They too had their rules. The luggage they carried was guarded every second by one or the other, never letting it out of their sight. For a trip through Russia this was certainly not an easy task.
I thought of the morning when I first boarded the train. My two small suitcases were still outside while almost everything else was already on the train. I got off quickly to pick them up myself. But I had hardly bent down to grab a handle, when a bayonet of the post already flashed at me. “Stop!” He shouts in Russian. I jumped back into the car and could almost feel the bayonet between my ribs. To hell with the luggage, I thought; now come what may. How could I dare to go against an alleged order! And so, very soon, everyone was taught how to follow instructions, one way or another.
How many times a day the windows of the compartment were darkened. There were certainly great military secrets that the train raced past with frozen windows. What could I observe? Lake Baikal, one of the largest in the East, which we drove along for hours, was monotonous like everything else - a deserted, endless expanse, frozen in deep hibernation.
Only further, closer to the West, the world started to revive! Cities appeared on the scene, Novosibirsk, Omsk - almost in the center -, followed by Sverdlovsk, a vast industrial city with mines, smelting plants, factories, like the Ruhr. And finally, another good day's journey further on, Moscow was reached. Here we were supposed to stay for 2 days. That was fine with me, that was the opportunity to visit the capital of communism.
We stayed at the Hotel Metropol, opposite the opera house, one of the grand, old buildings from the time of the Tsars, feudal in old tradition, precious in the execution of long gone times; here was a highlight, a new picture in front of my eyes after all the primitiveness of the last weeks! - Old and used, however, was all that one could see. The old, heavily faded plush curtains in front of the windows, the high, ornament-decorated ceilings, worn carpets, the bed, one lay as if in a deep hollow, in addition the old-fashioned smell, and the thought that behind one or the other curtain a hidden ear may be listening, reinforced my feelings of silence "the enemy is always listening!” - Rightly so it was said. Be careful at every step, for without a passport or identity card, any movement in public among the people was a risk, and contact was practically impossible. (This was strongly avoided). Despite this restriction I was out and about most of the time.
Moscow
Dr. Battl, an entomologist, was very interested in one of the famous museums for insect collections and research work here. It is well known that museum visits take a lot of time. Short, but highly interesting were many of our visits, as far as they were possible. Even if we did not dare to join the long queue of people in front of the mausoleum "Lenin in a glass coffin", the huge square of the Kremlin, the old buildings, the orthodox church with its onion domes. One hears so much about the famous subway and the stations paneled with artistic mosaics. The big department stores with goods for the people, where were they? It was a real pity, and many other things could not escape observation.
In the evening, we all dined together in a large hall of the Metropol, and were served a little off to the side. I was able, as I always like to do, to pursue my studies among the other guests. Mostly the military was represented, the higher officer class, easily recognizable with their medal-laden uniforms, and the elite of the party comrades of the KPD. So there they were, gathered in this "classless state," the paradise of the worker. - Here they drank and indulged in "vodka and caviar"! - Dance and music. It was December 9, a holiday? A wonderful, bubbling fountain in the center of all this entertainment was also the water where carp and trout swam their last laps. The one or the other, as desired, was then carefully removed from that fountain with a net. Fidgeting, in a silver vessel, you could see the chef walking with it to the kitchen.
The last stretch, a day's journey to Merkine border station - demarcation line, somewhere in the middle of a Poland, devastated by the "Blitzkrieg", went smoothly, thanks to the constant company of the 2 Intouristas. I eagerly awaited the moment to arrive in the German part of occupied Poland.
Moscow and its towers disappeared on the horizon. The evening broke early. No one could tell us where Markine actually was. The border, where two powers negotiated the robbery of a country. - Two deadly enemies, fascism and communism, had joined hands there not too long ago in a friendly alliance.
It was getting late. Then, just before midnight, they said: "We will be there soon”. Everything was ready. Only the passports were to be handed over. The first one, then the next one received theirs. Everything was in order, one after the other (in the train compartment). Now it was my turn. After some tense minutes the usual question "What is your name? Where do you come from? How old are you? What is your profession?" Then a short silence. "Your Pass is invalid!" and with that the figure disappeared in the dark. –
What did that mean? - Here at last. I stood there like petrified and my thoughts were racing. Was there a misunderstanding? What was going to happen? As a last resort there were 2 German diplomats on board with whom I could have talked. Hardly ten minutes later the agent came back. - Similar questions and answers. I felt queasy. What had led to this disastrous situation, like an interrogation? I was beginning to suspect something. "Write down your name!" was the latest command. I did as well as I could in this nervous state. With that he disappeared for the second time. Would I ever see my passport again? Or, for that matter, my homeland, after all that was already behind me? These and other thoughts raced through my brain at the moment. Then the door to the compartment opened for the third time and again two figures entered. "Are you Herr Ternow?" is the question in broken English? - A sharp look. - Here is your passport!!! - Everything that nobody had noticed before when looking at my passport had happened in the end (the lack of one signature)!
Slowly the train rolled to the final station Merkine! Everybody out!!! This time, nobody cared about the luggage anymore, "do it yourself". I stepped outside into the night and fog, then walked on to the border crossing, then to the control. German officers of the security police received us. All papers were quickly processed. The express train that was supposed to take us on to Berlin was already waiting. Finally, it was done. The train was to leave very early in the morning. - I suddenly woke up and only now realized that we were already on the road for many hours. I have never slept so well as after this small demonstration of nerve-racking Russian interrogation.
The train reached Warsaw; the first pictures of war, a picture of devastation and horror presented itself here in all its dimensions. Poznan followed. The ruins spoke of a similar devastation; the madness of this war. It was evening. Almost every village lay veiled in darkness, to protect itself from air-raids. - Then the first suburbs of Berlin arrived - and then the final station Friedrichstr. – finally on German soil!
Here a last, a firm handshake, a serious look and well wishes for an uncertain future. We had become more familiar with each other through all the past experiences. Whether one of us would see the other again? Dark was the future ahead of us, and in darkness our capital was veiled. - Many an isolated bombing raid had already shaken the city, leaving behind its marks of rubble and ashes.
I sent a telegram to Mother that I would arrive in Bunzlau the next morning. The next train left very late in the evening. This gave me time to visit my dearest aunt "Wienchen" in Neukölln; the first joyful reunion with a dear person. How many times since my earliest youth have I so gladly stayed here. This time it was my shortest visit. She had always cared for me as faithfully as a second mother.
And now only one more night; in the early morning I wanted to be at home. - There she stood, dear mommy! -She was standing in the station when the train arrived. "My boy! Is that you?" I can still today hear her voice. What a reunion!
But someone else was waiting for me. A dear girl in Wuppertal! Three days at my mom's home and again the suitcase was packed and ready, and on December 14th I left for the Rhineland. What a day of joy, happiness and reunion! What was hardly believable, hardly to be expected. The firm faith and many a faithful prayer made a great wish of life come true. I got to know Gerdchen's parents, two dear people, and a dear old grandmother; they all held my Gerdchen firmly in their love. But now I had come, and the very next day we celebrated our engagement. Happy days full of joy and bliss followed. Then I went the long way back to Silesia to the "cold home"; that's what she would call it later.
At the consulate in Yokohama, when I was handed my papers, I was clearly told: "So, you are a stateless person, this new German passport is only valid for your journey across Russia. As soon as you arrive, you will report to your local authorities as a “German living abroad” and will be issued a foreigner's passport for the rest of your stay.”
I came back to my old home country and should now, in a city that has been so familiar to me since childhood in regard to everything, and where I knew everybody, suddenly be treated as a "stranger"? - These were strange laws. Should I keep quiet? Should I just keep the old passport when I would go to register? After all, who would ask if I was a stateless person?
In this case, however, it was clear to me that if I would keep my German passport, then the Wehrmacht's call to report for duty would be in the mailbox very shortly. – At some point I had to expect this. But why provoke such a call so early, there would be plenty of time for this later. There was still so much to do. My furniture, the store, the apartment, and the main thing - we wanted to get married. So I decided to follow the advice of the consulate and registered as a stateless person again.
This very quickly had completely new consequences. A party official appeared and declared: "Mr. T., you have to report to the police office here once a week starting January 1; personally speaking, a purely routine matter, etc. You know what I mean. We do know you, after all!" – “What nonsense”, I thought. “But go ahead and have your fun”, and obeyed the invitation. And this way I started to settle anew in my old home. - I was a foreigner, maybe "a spy", who had to be watched!
Being a foreigner brought other problems to light. There was a law for the "preservation of a pure race", it was written in the book "Mein Kampf" and became a law under Hitler. And this also applied to Mr. Ternow, born in Eberswalde near Berlin, to German parents, grandparents and great-grandparents! I assumed that this ancestral family tree was sufficient. – And look, a miracle! Eight weeks later this important document and the official "Permission for a marriage with Miss Bush" was in my hand. – But we were far from having accomplished our goal. Again the law read: "With the marriage between a 'foreigner' and a German girl she loses her German citizenship! Could one expect this of a German girl? - A new "grave decision". - Love had the last word. What were the poet's words? "And yet I, a hard man, felt love deeply!" - Love, it remained the driving force despite many disappointments and obstacles that led me back around the globe in the course of 18 months to a happy reunion.
Full of new tasks and plans for the future, I soon found myself very busy. The company for furniture construction and the store at the Friedrichstr. had been closed long ago. Johannes, father of 4 children, had been drafted months ago to the air force division of air defense; there were no more exceptions.
I used the time, reopened the business, and was able to make my own furniture, one by one for our future home. A complete kitchen with everything and a bedroom in Finnish birch, hand polished in silver-grey. It turned out first class and was widely admired. - The apartment for it was still missing though. Despite many new buildings, there was a shortage of housing everywhere. It could take years before I could expect to be assigned an apartment by the housing office. The fight for "victory and peace" was more important and required the commitment of all forces. The lack of an apartment was still the smallest sacrifice that I could make.
Most men fought at the front. At home one had to cope without them, and I soon felt "very strange" to be still here as a healthy young man. "Mr. Ternow, do you still work at the shop?" This question often sounded in my ears! – From friends, even on the street. Who was still walking around in civilian clothes when all you could see were uniforms? - I suspected that it would not go on like this for long. "You are lucky, Mr. T."-that indeed, and even in regard to an apartment for us, everything worked out in the end like clockwork. - Just across the yard, 3 steps around the corner, at the master painter Schirma Paler’s, Opitz Str. No. 11, a family moved out. The young man had been drafted. It became empty and through my connection with Mr. Writs from the housing office, I was the new happy owner from January 1.
"We can marry" was the next express letter to Wuppertal. "Oh dear! That fast?" came back in the next letter. But what was the point? To own an apartment or not was worth a marriage! And with that, a day was soon set for this event, April 17, 1941. – And from that moment on, there was nor more relaxation for me. – One thing quickly followed the other, hardly any time to think. The struggle for the existence and non-existence of a people required all the forces still available. 1 ½ Days of rail travel separated us. Too far to enjoy the happy time of engagement. Traveling became more difficult. Everywhere bomb raids at increased frequency. I was only able to visit my Gerdchen twice in the Rhineland during the following months.
The wedding day came closer. Only one more week and I was with her! There was still much to think about and prepare together. Some things were missing. Among them, as was custom, a formal dress for Gerdchen, the wedding dress, and even more difficult to find, the dark suit for the man. There was not much left to find in the stores. Where else could one find such a thing? As a last resort in our search we entered a rental store. How interesting! There were colorful uniforms hanging in a long row! In all designs far back into the 18th century. "That was something for the stage!" No, I hadn't come to the Rhineland to play theater! There was no tuxedo for me to find. What to do? Disappointed, we left this store with a musty smell that still haunted us for miles.
Well, as so often, at last, after hours of searching through Wuppertal-Elberfeld and Barmen, finally a store where I found something - a dark suit for the coming day. Gerdchen had already provided for a lot of style herself; silver shoes, matching the wedding dress. "One small and one large shoe" was explained to me. Did I understand that correctly? Am I marrying a girl with two different feet? That was news to me! I had forgotten for a moment that we were at war. At that time, everyone was happy to find a pair of reasonably fitting shoes, let alone even a possibility for this silver luxury. They fit, that was the main thing.
Finally, after all the to and fro, and unforeseeable difficulties, the longed-for day of joy came, the wedding at Gerdchen's parents' house at Memeler Str. 41. We did not have much, only the allocated rations, and yet, everything was amply and well provided for. Mother was the only one of us Ternows who was able to participate and she had set out on the long and difficult journey. She got to know my Gerdchen and the two dear parents as well as two old grandmas, both over 80 years old, uncles and aunts and some of Gredchen’s girlfriends that were invited - a small circle. A happy get-together followed after the official and the church wedding ceremony in the Lutheran Church with Pastor Tappenberg, where two people said "I do" to each other, and God gave the blessing.
In the late afternoon another train left for Cologne. We wanted to spend the honeymoon in our Braubach where we had first met. Since it was already late, we stayed in Cologne and unexpectedly experienced our first joint air-raid alert. We did not seek refuge in the air-raid shelter and fortunately we were spared. The enemy had found another target for his carpet-bombing. Early in the morning we took the train to the safe "Felsenkeller". - Braubach on the Rhine, with its familiar ruin of the castle of marauding knights, the Markburg.
The happy days in this beautiful area passed too quickly during trips and hikes amid the sunny spring of nature. It made us forget, at least for a short time, everything that was far away - the struggle of the world out there. Only the present, the long awaited fulfillment of a happy get-together filled our hearts here.
The time and hour came and we had to part from this lovely place, back to Wuppertal. Here it was time to say goodbye to her parents, who had so faithfully cared for her until then. In Bunzlau, Silesia, was the "newly built nest" for the two of us. Gerdchen had no idea that it was a final parting and farewell to a dear person, the mother, at that time.
The journey led via Berlin. A short break with our old Aunt Edwina who had not been able to come to our wedding, was a pleasant surprise for her. A few hours later, our night train continued on to Silesia, and still at dawn, tired and exhausted, we reached our destination.
15 April 1941. At 4 o'clock in the morning, a new day dawned. "Bunzlau, Bunzlau!" cried the conductor. Only a few doors flew open. - So here we were; the little town that became our new home, the home of our children. - The future. - Who could foresee how short this time would be, while the war raged on two fronts and claimed its victims from everyone.
We stepped out into the freshness of a new day. The short path ran right across the Promenade Park. A colorful picture of flowers on each side and there, suddenly the sun shining through the soft green of an awakening spring day. Further through the narrow alleys with the old houses, the pointed half-timbered gables, like friendly faces looking down at us as if to say: "You are welcome here!” - Then only a few more minutes. Past the Odeon Pond, where the last veils of a light fog were lifting. There in the middle, the small island with weeping willows and the little swan houses and their proud inhabitants, one wing and the other stretching out far, ready for the first morning excursion through the cool waters. - Was not everything still like it had been in my childhood? We used to sit over there with mother and aunts, having coffee and cake, watching the magnificent white birds and secretly shared some pieces of food with them and the carps or goldfish that were always there. Nothing had changed in a quarter of a century. And there, at the beginning of Opitz Street, the old three-story school building with its 6 entrances and the wide schoolyard; how many memories were suddenly triggered by this sight. Yes, the old school days. ---
Starting a new household takes time, requires patience and experience in all the unusual demands that came our way in the beginning. I was surprised how quickly Gerdchen mastered the art of cooking, even though it started with small failures. "But, a master does not fall from the sky", as an old saying goes! Unfortunately, the first tears fell when the bacon for a delicious potato salad went up in smoke in the too hot pan. The tears, however, were not so much for the burning as for the fact that there was so heartily little to be had, and the tight food rations became less and less from day to day. But we were happy together and so we could bear many things more easily. –
But for how much longer? This unspoken question remained a constant, frightening companion for us. But how comfortable I was despite all this. The store right next door, enough work, more than necessary, because most of the businesses had long since been closed and the owners and workers were obliged to do military service. I was still allowed to consider myself one of the unusually free ones. We could have lunch together, I could organize my time according to my wishes, and I still could enjoy my "freedom", except for a weekly visit to the registration office.
A year passed and we had settled into our new surroundings. For me it was easier, I soon felt at home again. Gerdchen on the other hand - far away from her loved ones - here many things were still strange and unfamiliar to her; but it takes time.
Strangely enough, the press and radio had not mentioned anything about Russia for weeks. Hardly anyone heard the name anymore. Everything seemed quiet on the Eastern front. But strangely enough, what was the purpose of the transport of endless trains with troops and weapons, as well as the long columns of tanks on the old army road that led to the East? Were we allowed to express our suspicions? - German divisions on the advance to R.
The Führer had spoken. On June 22, 1941, at night at 3:15 a.m., our armies invaded Russia on a broad front. Thus began a new phase in the expansion of this madness. We were in a cold sweat when we all heard the news on the radio early Sunday morning. - Where was this going to lead? To Moscow in a second Napoleon campaign?
A long walk through the Bunzlau city park, out into the silence in the middle of the woods, away from people and houses, - collecting thoughts - there was still peace and quiet to be found here. In the afternoon, we found distraction in Krauschen, like so often, where mother was waiting for us children, and Anni with her 4 girls, who ran happily towards us. In this familiar environment everything was still the same. Only one person was missing, the father - he hadn't had a vacation for a long time and now it would be even more unlikely. Johannes was still stationed in the Reich with the air defense. Could he be transferred to the Russian Front like hundreds of thousands of others? Anxious questions arose.
In the course of the suddenly new events I had almost forgotten that a large part of my luggage was still on the way. "That is probably lost", I was told, and I came to terms with this thought. But then, surprisingly, I received the news from the customs office at the end of June: "Your luggage arrived in Königsberg shortly before the outbreak of the war with Russia.” I could not believe my eyes. Except for some for me personally valuable possessions, I found the delicious bean coffee, which had been packed months ago and was by know "unknown" in Germany, already for a long time. The pleasure was worth the high customs duties and Gerdchen and mother enjoyed it particularly.
Gerdchen also felt very comfortable and at home in Krauschen, where we spent many weekends. - Walks through fields and the nearby forest, over the Fuchsberg - I knew every path - the beautiful view from that hill. Once again, memories of my youth came back to life. The Gräditzberg not too far away, there it lay, the only elevation in this plain of the Silesia country that is stretching before us. How often was it our destination on a hike or a ride on our bikes, or, though seldom, on the small train that meandered from Bunzlau through many villages to the wooded mountain base.
At that time, whether it was wild pigeons that I caught from high above from the tower beams and carried home in my jacket pocket to my friend Wolfgang, who had accompanied me so that he could give them a new home in his pigeon breeding enterprise, or was it an old rifle that we found, disassembled and dragged home; nothing remained hidden, it was all brought back home! At that time, we were the young "marauding nights " who felt at home here. It was part of our home.
In the late summer another picture presented itself. Through the edge of the forest the heath shimmered in full bloom, laid out for us like a dark red carpet. Mother called it "Erika"! She loved flowers more than anything! Many a bouquet was picked here and decorated her room in wintertime. In spring, it was the daisies, her favorite flower, which enchanted the meadows, and in between, the blue bellflowers and the cornflowers at the edge of the fields. A simple yet bright bouquet was the most beautiful thing we could bring her.
English Translation – part 2 (pages 39-83)
Gerdchen was expecting our first child – Little Waltraud was born on February 25, ‘42, a joyful event; how grateful we were. It was also a joy for the grandparents. It was their wish to visit us as soon as possible and we were looking forward to seeing them again. - Then came the hardly believable news of her mother’s sudden passing - too sudden!
Gerdchen, with little Waltraut in her baby pillow, had to make the difficult journey to her hometown. Who would have guessed that the goodbye a year ago, would be forever? What else could shake us? Here this, and there the miserable war. Was there still a ray of hope to be seen somewhere? The bombing raids became more intense from month to month. Every city that had been spared so far could expect to be the next target. The air defense against this superiority was unsuccessful. – Johannes was transferred to the Russian Front.
Gerda's father visited us. He was supposed to stay with us. We still felt safer here than anywhere else in the larger cities. He was no longer the same. Visibly recognizable was the difficult time that lay behind him, a loss that was not easy to overcome; a big hole remained. How nice it would be if he would move in with us. The Rhineland had already suffered greatly. His retirement was imminent, thus, we had to be patient. However, in the meantime he found a kindred soul and we heard that a second marriage was to be expected. A second short period of happiness; we wondered, was there any talk of this at all?
"Father seriously ill in the hospital", was an abrupt message, followed shortly by a telegram. - Blow after blow followed; first the dear mother, then two grandmothers, and now, all of a sudden, the dear father so unexpectedly. – For all of us, and especially for Gerdchen, - at first unbelievable. The last link to her old home was gone.
We had to bow under what was imposed on us in this difficult time and took it from God's hand. He alone stood above us and the struggle of all nations. This should also serve to strengthen our faith and to strengthen us for what we still had to face in life. That was how I learned to see those things that threatened to rob us of our inner balance.
Yes, soon new unrest arose with the passage of time. Then a letter from the district office came that said: "We would like to advise you to submit an application as soon as possible to regain your civil rights as a German citizen. A delay in this matter could possibly have very unpleasant consequences for you". - A “broad hint”, as I had long anticipated. I had already heard a lot about this in similar cases. Above all, there was no pleasant prospect in case of a refusal. I did not think about it twice since I recognized my extremely critical situation. - "Now the time had come!" "Concentration camp or front," in other words. So there was not much left to decide. - An eerie game. - "Checkmate - the last move!"
Faster than expected I received the confirmation of my German citizenship and even faster followed the first order to join the Wehrmacht and the request for a medical fitness examination. I had been selected for the medical ambulance troops to Russia.
How could I settle my business matters so quickly? I appealed and was given 8 weeks to dissolve and close the business. Six weeks later, the first draft order followed.
On December 11, 1942, Hitler declared war on America, and two days later, on December 13, I had to report for duty in the army. Gerdchen accompanied me on the short train ride to Lauban to the barracks. And again our paths parted. This time more uncertain than ever the future lay ahead of us and each time the separation was more difficult. Who could even foresee or suspect what the future would bring, while death and destruction continued to rage in this insane war. From that day on, I was "conscripted" to learn a new craft, a cruel one – the craft of legal murder and destruction.
Anti-tank defense was the name of the unit I was assigned to. From now on everything was routine. I was issued a sloppy uniform and a slightly better one, a steel helmet, gas mask, and God knows what else; whatever was needed for the protection of life. And weapons - he gun with which the infantryman learns his first exercises. Two days later it was said: "we are leaving!" Where to? - Nobody knew that at first. East or West? Eventually it leaked out that our transport was to go to France for training. After two days we reached a small historical town on the Moselle where a 6-week training took place. Here the "grinding" with the pack defense for the use against tank weapons began. –
These were weeks where the motto was: "grit your teeth". How many times the individual was degraded and berated! Air-raid alert, cover! Quick as lightning, throw yourself to the left or right into the trenches, no matter how deep the mud or dirt! Up, down, three times, four times, until we were all exhausted and then we moved on; 5 men to a pack. Change of position, and then it started all over again, until finally the sergeant had shouted himself hoarse.
Again and again we went through the same crap, and some never understood it, or did not want to. Then it was "gas masks on!" and at a pace through almost impossible terrain until we were sweating under the steel helmet and under the mask that was over our faces, until sweat ran like clear water down all our limbs. Or who does not remember the daily terrain marches that were part of the "physical training". And we had to sing. "A song!" echoed the roaring voice! "Three, four!" – “It is so nice to be a soldier etc.” and if that didn't work, well there was hell to pay. --- Well, what idiot had written those lyrics?!
After 4 weeks of this memorable period of basic training, it was time for a "transfer”! To where? Once again we "older men" over 30 years had been mercifully treated. Luckily, our group continued west, across France to Les Sables on the Bay of Biscay, and anyone with a civilian driver's license could join a transport group for further technical training. Here things went more quietly, we deserved it! More free time was available while our service with vehicle, through constant readiness in case of a new invasion, kept the tension up. In Dunkirk the Allies had suffered a defeat and heavy losses at the beginning. A repetition was not to be expected for the time being. Bunkers and fortifications were built at all strategic points along the Atlantic coast.
The southern section of the front was still quiet. We entertained ourselves and the autumn brought a few quiet weeks. "The grape harvest"; comrade Adolf always came along when I suggested an evening walk through the vineyards to make sure the “harvest had been complete”. All around we had our pick of the grapes and very soon we found the varieties that we liked best. Very soon we were spoiled like the taste buds of a trained connoisseur and enjoyed the tastiest of the fruits to the fullest. Later in the evening, some mulled wine often rounded off the evening. In the mess there was also a celebration every now and then. A number of artists were among us, who also enriched our "request concerts". At such gatherings the mood rose, just like everybody needed, and we enjoyed short hours of distractions. - How much longer?
1st Vacation
Then came one of the always welcome letters from home with the message: "A little daughter has arrived" (April 27, ‘43?). Little Waltraud had been joined by a little sister. Rosemarie was suddenly there! What a joy! My requested vacation was at first rejected and only approved the following May. Then came the day and what a sudden surprise, since Gerdchen had no idea about my arrival and the first visit. After a miserable 2-day trip, I arrived in Bunzlau in the afternoon. There, on the old familiar promenade of the first park, who do I see coming towards me? Gerdchen with two little gold beetles in a little cart on the way to the post office! - A short time before, Gerdchen had just thought: "Dear daddy should come soon now!” And indeed, the thought and wish came true like magic. What a joyful reunion!
Ten days at home, the gray uniform off, - free from all the burdens of the otherwise everyday life. Here the air was finally different again. The feeling of being among the loved ones was worth living, even if only for a short time, it was a happy get-together.
The following summer was to remain calm. Nothing new in the West! While wall defenses were feverishly built at all strategic points along the Atlantic coast.
The second Christmas for me at the front approached! Would I be allowed on vacation once more, to experience these days at home? Understandably, family fathers with 4 or more children had priority. I was allowed to leave already in November and was glad about this rare opportunity.
So it went once again in the direction of home. This time not without disturbance, when suddenly, at night, the train underneath us travelers suddenly blew up. Again the partisans had done a good job. An explosion woke me up shortly after midnight. Suitcases, luggage, people - a chaotic mess. The car tilted to one side and came to a halt. I was able to free myself from this turmoil through a smashed window. What was going on here? Not knowing anything at the moment; everybody went on high alert, ready for action. And so I spent the night in a ditch until the early morning. Fortunately, we had not suffered any losses from this act of sabotage. Only 24 hours later a replacement train came to free us from this situation and the journey continued.
With bruises but otherwise having gotten off easy, I reached home. And who came to meet me when I opened the door? Next to the dear mummy stood little Waltraud, delighted, and in the bedroom, in front of the mirror toilet, was the basket with our youngest “little bawler”. How nice Gerdchen had furnished everything and how comfortable everything was, especially in the small room with the warmth radiating tiled stove. There stood the walnut writing cabinet, the masterpiece with all the books. In many a quiet hour a dear greeting from Gerdchen had gone from here to me at the far front. The dining room Gerdchen had inherited from her parents. All in dark oak; the doors of the buffet and credenza in veneer, artfully put together. The long pull-out table, where we had the pleasure of entertaining many a dear guest in the first year. The bedroom had also aroused many an admiration, as well as the kitchen with the large cupboard. The days flew by. We walked the old familiar way to Krauschen where mother was waiting for us. How happy they all were when we came, the four girls, and how they jumped around Aunt Gerda and Uncle Siegfried; everything like in the old days.
In Silesia there was still peace and quiet; no bombs had fallen here yet. Although, everything was ready in case of "the fall," disaster was to strike here as well. Who knew what kind of fate was still in store for our homeland. So the last days and hours passed in our home. – A last look back; would I see all this again? Who could know in these hours of separation and farewell? Something weighed heavier than ever on my mind. (date? check soldier’s pay book)
Three days later I was standing at attention: "Private Ternow reports back from vacation!” - A Christmas without peace came and went and the general situation became more restless with the beginning of the new year. My transfer to La Rochelle followed and later to La Roche and Bordeaux; but Lyon remained our headquarters. At the moment there was no expectation yet of some action at the front in the West; the East, on the other hand, needed all the forces. And those who did not seem necessary in the extreme case of an invasion came to Russia. I was not among them.
And then came the day like lightning with its shattering power, "D-day," June 6, ‘44, at Caen with a superiority like never before. The bridge fight soon expanded in every direction, like a blaze of fire, even further south, toward our positions. Nothing could withstand this material superiority for long, while the heavy losses without replacement soon made themselves painfully felt in our case. The 158 division staff was aware that an unstoppable catastrophe could no longer be avoided, even though our 3 regiments were fully deployed. However, on August 18, the scheduled withdrawal from France began.
From the South, the enemy also advanced more quickly and attempted to strategically contain the central occupation of France, of which we were a part. Was escape to the East still possible? - "Far is the way back to the homeland!" How often had we sung this song during our marches! Now the time had come, and it was not going to be an easy road. My car was loaded with as much fuel and reserves as it could hold, and so the march to the East started; day and night. Leaving burning cities with blown up camps and ammunition depots behind, a horrible picture - devastation. Over impossible roads and the enemy on both sides; without a break, without rest. A few hours at night at most, if there was any possibility at all. The losses became devastating. In disintegrated marching columns, isolated, scattered, on foot, if lucky then with a bicycle but without tires - a bleak picture. And despite everything, still in reasonably orderly motion. –
If we thought we had escaped the last encirclement, we rested for a few hours, minutes, as long as the enemy was not too close on our heels, just to take care of some personal business, to put ourselves back together, at least a little. Being able to take a bath or shower was one of the rarest things that could be done, whenever there was still a chance. One day I was sitting in the middle of it (I had the rare opportunity) fully soaped, when a sudden alarm broke out! Everybody in line, readiness –was this for real?! I still could not hear any grenades detonating to the right or left, only commands! At that moment I was getting even hotter than the bath I hurriedly jumped out of. - Everybody is already running around out there! What now? After a few minutes everything is back in order. It worked even without Ternow. - Fortunately it had been a short, surprising practice alarm.
As soon as we move on, all hell breaks loose again. Under the most difficult of conditions and with heavy losses our units were able to stop the enemy once more; we survive to "sing another song". One night, I get stuck in a ditch with my car during a reconnaissance trip. "Jabos" dominated the airspace; wherever something moves, they start a low altitude attack and a merciless bullet rain begins. I am lucky, a tank pulls me out of the mud in the early morning. Many a brave man loses his nerve and goes completely crazy during these conditions. How can one retain strong nerves when everybody always has to give it all? –
In one or the other village we briefly took up quarters. We found food in a factory and supplied ourselves abundantly with all varieties - this time it was cheese. There lay in long rows the big "wheels" where we cut down big wedges with the bayonet. There was also no lack of chocolate in another factory, it was enough for the next few weeks. Even if there was nothing else to eat, this was a diet not to be sneezed at. We passed through Lyon - little Paris - Dijon, Epinal and Saint Die at the foot of the Vosges Mountains. Here we were told to stop: "Hold position at all costs!" - Thus, then, the last stand against a superior force that came at us from all sides.
We lay in a hail of grenades day and night, and nothing escaped it. We had to hold out despite heavy losses: "Orders from above!” The Vosges Mountains were to serve as the last bulwark to defend our homeland and to hold the enemy in our section between Kolmar - Strasbourg in the Rhine valley.
Fortifications and barriers were erected at every crossing. Reconnaissance trips crisscrossing this beautiful mountain landscape remained my task for the following weeks. It was a last deep breath, a small interruption, until all hell broke loose over this section as well. Holding out was not to last long, we were pushed back further. But we held on, tenaciously to the extreme.
A Vosges Mountain tunnel served as the last escape route. This ride in my car, not quite operational anymore, remained something to remember. I hung on the tow rope of an off-road vehicle, the driver of which raced like a madman through the deserted land over railroad ties and pot holes. Deep holes created by the removal of railroad ties and rails was no problem for my tow truck, but what about me?! How was I going to get out of this dirt and dust in one piece? It was a miracle that at the other end of the tunnel daylight shone once again, and fresh air revived my lungs.
We stayed for a short "stop" in a new position east of this small mountain world, because no sooner had a hole been shoveled out here for cover than we found ourselves closer to the enemy, closer than before. The enemy had long since bypassed even these small obstacles, the Vosges Mountains, and had continued his push eastward without a tunnel! My vehicle finally gave up; what was left now was no longer operational. - Strasbourg, the beautiful city, it was heavily fought over. Was it now the River Rhine that was to be the very last bastion and line of defense of the West for our Fatherland? Here, as on the Eastern Front, there were heavy losses that foretold a near end.
The Russian armies were close to the borders of Silesia. – For a long time no news had reached me, even impossible just to think that such a thing still existed. What was it like at home? Where were my brothers fighting? Johannes was last in Russia, and where was Helmut? The icy winter, Russia's best ally - as it was once in 1812 during Napoleon's retreat, so also today. The German armies devastatingly beaten. Between them, and in front of a wave of Russians, moved an endless army of refugees, such as world history has never seen. So the news slowly filtered through, the veiled Wehrmacht news. Our division chief knew exactly how the situation stood. What was the use? Everyone did his duty with all their strength and to exhaustion.
A typical bunker made of logs and dirt on a wooded eastern hillside of the Vosges Mountains became the next headquarters of the 158th Division from where the reports went out. Almost useless to mention - any new position was very soon known to the enemy. At a strategic point "3 Ähren", an old climatic spa resort high up in the mountains, was one of our defense posts, heavily fought over. It served to cover the retreat of the few troops that remained, and at the same time to secure our supplies, that is, if a transport was lucky enough to reach us via the "death strip". I passed it twice in full field gear, crawling like a snake on my belly, and was mercifully spared. But I remember two good comrades in particular. We carried them to their graves, the frozen earth was the place of their final rest. - –
Transports, they got stuck and the rations became less every day. In addition, it was turning colder, the conditions became more critical by the day, and the Wehrmacht reports from the East more discouraging. The mood was at zero.
Our position was nowhere permanent; a halt, a brief stretching of tired bones. Scarce hours, at most half a night. Who could still think clearly? Who would not become numb with this daily killing, and having death before his eyes every moment. What was left of our so proud 158th Division? How often had it been replenished with reserve troops? That all had ended now. At home, the last reserves of "cripples" and lame men were trained for the "meat grinder".
In the Rhine plain raged continuous heavy fighting, stubborn attacks and counterattacks. Our regiment still had 3 tanks. What these last remnants accomplished was incredible. – Our chief and staff were taken prisoner, the rest of us was scattered. A new counterattack took place and the next day we were able to find a pathetic bunch, including our division chief, a Knight's Cross bearer - I had respect for the guy! But at that moment, when I recognized him, he looked more like a badly plucked chicken. Everything had been robbed from him in the few hours of captivity, the rest had been torn off. Seriously weakened, but thanks to a brave crew, he was at least lucky to escape from this delicate situation.
It remained an inexorable retreat from place to place. Those who still had healthy bones could be thankful. On a reporting trip to the front, my driver with sidecar sped past a column of horses too close. I thought at that moment my right arm was torn out, but it was not quite so bad. The persistent pain made me unfit for duty for 2 weeks; I was sent to the field hospital for treatment. To avoid an uncertain transfer, I reported to the regimental staff as an interpreter.
Interrogations of individual captured Yanks did not occur much, and little could be discovered from a conversation. Mostly, "all the fleas were silent." What else were we to do with a captured Yank in those last weeks of lost battle? We let them roam free and they understood us and disappeared overnight. - We remained the hunted. As soon as dusk fell, as usual, a hail of shells began, the signal for us to clear the village. Beautiful villages, farmsteads, barns and stables went up in flames, turning dusk into day. There was no place to stop or cover to be found here. It remained an inevitable retreat.
Wounded
Worse than ever, the fields soaked, without hold after the last frost and rain, boots stuck up to the ankles in the clay of the fields, - and on we went through the mud. Ahead of us was a dense wooded area, we had to reach it to find some cover. We were being chased, boxed in, like game in a hunt. Flares whistled past my head, shells exploded anew in front and behind us. They knew exactly where to find us!
No sooner had a new position been taken up - whether in the field or in the cellar of a farmhouse - and our radio equipment in operation, the last connection with an adjacent unit, a new intense hail of grenades started with the horrible whistling and ear-splitting explosions. Villages burned behind us that we had just left, a horror went through all my limbs at the sight of this sea of flames. For how much longer should this raging go on?
We reached the forest area, here the next defense line should be built up. With what? I was happy to have escaped this hellish pursuit once again. After a short interruption, the shelling started again and raged to a greater extent than ever before. Everyone looked for cover where he could. There was no time to dig a cover. To the left behind a pine tree I hunkered down, to the right a comrade. The position has long since been recognized by the enemy and been taken into the sight of their guns. Shrapnel after shrapnel causes fountains of fire and dirt to shoot up in front us. They are closing in on us. - Flashes, deafening crashes, screams - not far to my left a comrade's legs are torn off by a direct hit. – Horrible! - Minutes pass, I pull my steel helmet lower and press my face into the dirt.
[Insert: I heard later many similar stories, where somebody in hindsight could not justify why he changed his position in a flash or pulled the steel helmet deeper into his face and threw himself into a ditch, while next to him, where he lay seconds ago, the next shell hit with a fountain of fire and dirt and nothing is left of his comrade.]
There again, the whistling - too close - I see only a fireball in front of me. With the explosion everything is torn apart, blinding, fire, everything around me burning. - I am pulled up by the force and fall back. A pain jolts through all the limbs. "Is this the end? Am I torn apart? Am I still alive?" Yes, I- I try to breathe - thank God, these organs are still intact! These were the first thoughts that radiated like lightning from the brain! "I am still alive, the war is over!” – “The end”, and again and again, “The end'" - February 5, 1945.
The shrapnel hit between me and my comrade, close to my head, a direct hit, and tore open the right side of my head and tore off half my nose. Splinters sat in the back of my neck and my shoulder was also wide open. Then I first noticed that there was something hanging from my right hand - my thumb on a thin scrap of skin.
Barely aware of all this at that moment, I rolled around and came up. Where was a paramedic? A makeshift bandage was all that was offered. My comrade had only some small splinters. Something told me: “Just get away from here!” An irrepressible urge to live overcame me at that moment. Danger in the greatest need, the sudden realization to save one’s own life - to be or not to be. Isn’t it true that in such moments superhuman forces suddenly arise in us, which one normally doesn't think possible? Forces driven by an almost supernatural inner urge.
I dragged myself, hardly knowing in which direction - with the support of a comrade; further, only further - away from this hell that wanted to take no end. Secret ammunition depots blew up, the forest burned in many places. What did I care! Hours passed staggering round, the night illuminated by the fires, my strength started to wane, the blood loss. How should I get out of here? Suddenly noises! - Vehicles with dimmed lights- a road! Where are we? In which direction are they going? Are they ours or enemy formations? I don't care about that either at the moment. I stop and listen again. There! Clearly audible, "German voices!" I collapse at the roadside, half bleeding to death. A truck stops. How I got on the vehicle, I do not know. I lay stretched out between others and hardly noticed what was happening to me. I only remember one thing. As if in a constant cycle, a thought was turning in my brain: "The war is over, the war is over!"
In a field hospital, provisionally equipped for the wounded, I finally woke up with new bandages around my head, arm, and right hand, through which the blood seeped. “You will be sent to Wiesbaden, on the other side of the Rhine”, I was told. Here, too, there was already heavy fighting; most of the bridges in the Kolmar section were destroyed. It was a short ride by ambulance to the left bank of the Rhine. The closer we came to the river, the more clearly an incredible state of chaos was revealed. Vehicles in retreat, many stuck in the mud and mire, shot horses, still hitched to wagons, killed by air raids. Horrible pictures everywhere you looked. There was no way forward here. So on foot, and to those who can: “save yourself across the river!” Where was the “Watch on the Rhine”? [patriotic anthem]
I pass through Neu Breisach - here too everything is destroyed - along the main street and past small stores with smashed windows, here and there, in between, one is still intact. At a street corner, next to a building, I stop. Where to go from here? A second look. I see someone in the reflection of a window. Is that supposed to be me? The face is sticky with blood, unrecognizable. What had happened to me? A little further on, the road ends - dirt and mud, no way through. There is water flowing, high water, the Rhine has gone far beyond its banks!
Is this the river, the stream with its proud castles, where I spent our happiest time and our honeymoon with Gerdchen just 3 years ago? Poor Germany! I looked across, that is where home is. No ferry, no bridge intact. Gray and dull in a monotonous murmur, the masses roll inexorably northward. What is left to do here? Around me a debris field of destruction, a tragic end to this area that must have happened just shortly before. Should I go back? No! – What do I see over there? Looking through low brushwood - a small rowboat drifts over, it hangs on a rope and comes ashore. What is all this? I move closer and don't see much. "Get in!" is all I hear and it starts moving again with powerful oar strokes. – I am the only passenger. We do not talk much – the looks of me seemed to say more than words could have otherwise.
Are there still angels who meet us at the right time? I am inclined to say so! Without a doubt, God sends His messengers at the right time, when we need them most. Again I was able to experience it so clearly in my life, and I am grateful for it with all my heart.
Heidelberg was the next collection camp for the wounded. A truck took me the first distance, then in a freight train on a straw bed I reached Wiesloch Station, a reserve hospital, on February 7, completely exhausted. - When had I last rested in a bed? I sank into it – without any strength left, worn out. Was this the end?
How long had there been no news from home? The trains hardly ran anymore. The enemy planes in low-altitude attacks made sure of that. Railroad tracks could be restored overnight, but not the locomotives that lay on the stations and tracks like shot game. The reports became more and more sparse. - No more "special reports" of victorious battles on land and sea, as had once been the case during the first two years. Five years of war had worn us down completely. The enemy had reached its goal, the German border, and had already crossed it. On the evening of February 11, ‘45, the last Wehrmacht report read, among other things, in a short sentence, "Today Bunzlau was lost to the enemy after hard fighting!" - Again a numbing blow that robbed me of my senses for the moment. Where were my loved ones, Gerdchen, the children, mother and all the others???
Unable to even think clearly, I left everything in silent prayer to our Lord and God. – And later I was able to realize: "In all distress, did not the merciful God spread His wings over you?”
Had it been possible for my loved ones to escape from the Russians at the last minute? Where to? Where was safety? I myself could not pick up a pen. Who could I write to? My right hand lay splinted in a tight bandage. In the field hospital the doctor had wanted to remove the thumb completely. It was in pieces, the limb torn apart. Would it ever be somewhat usable again? – I dictated a few short lines to the nurse for postcard to Berlin, somewhere, anywhere. There had to be a connection possible after all. How gratefully I received the first joyful news, Margot wrote: "Your loved ones are all well and are at present in Theusing, Sudetenland." - Weeks later, the first greeting also came from here: "Yes, we have all come through graciously, although everything had to be left behind, but we are alive and together!" - The first ray of light in all the darkness and bitter hardship.
The injuries healed well, from the nasal bone a part was still missing (and the nose remained crooked to this day). The right cheek, which lay completely open, and the torn muscle on the upper arm soon ceased to worry me. I learned to write with my left hand - what else could I do - short greetings - I could read it, and I guess the others could too. I was allowed to walk and move around. How good that felt after all those weeks. In the meantime, the Americans had long since advanced across the Rhine. At the bridgehead "Remagen" the floodgates had opened and only little resistance was to be expected from now on. The thunder of the guns was getting closer day by day. Heidelberg was very soon to become the headquarters of the Allies. They had spared it for this purpose and had not dropped any bombs. I was not far from it. But to be on the safe side, the military hospital was slowly being evacuated. Those who had the opportunity, were allowed to transfer to the nearest military hospital in their home town.
Reunion in Theusing
And my homeland - was only where my loved ones had fled to at the time. Behind me lay the collapsed front with all its agonies, and in front of me a long way, through some cities that lay in heaps of rubble, in ruins and ashes. - Again and again the same picture, huge "grave mounds" - here and there a sign with name and street designation: "We are in, etc. - We are alive - " How many other fates and agonies of death hid these mounds with their cellars of the doomed, buried alive?
Hardly a train ran; the stations empty. The great arched entrances of the vast halls, the only thing still standing, gaped helplessly at the onlooker. The features of an inner, collapsed front stared back from wherever the gaze turned. Germany, the homeland, lay on the ground, completely destroyed. It remained a slow progress, but the knowledge: “They are alive. I am on the way to see them again!”, let me overcome all obstacles easier - meager rations, overnight stays on hard cement floor in a bunker in frost and cold. Had we not all been faithfully preserved, did not many of our fellow citizens had to endure an even harsher lot? Those who never found their loved ones again?
March 21: After a 5-day march, partly on trucks, and short distances by train, I found my loved ones again in Theusing. We were happily reunited! Two days of this joy and I had to report to Carlsbad, the nearest reserve hospital, to where my transfer was. Carlsbad had been declared a military hospital town and thus was not exposed to any wartime dangers.
Good care and rest over the next few weeks soon gave me new strength. During this time I was able to visit Theusing several times over the weekend and stay with my loved ones. Gerdchen also made the difficult journey several times to surprise me in the military hospital. The train ran only once a day and very irregularly since the fronts and occupying forces threatened this area from all sides. In addition, the internal enemy, the underground movement, came more to the surface to openly declare war.
An unexpected heavy bombing raid took place during on Carlsbad’s industrial center and railroad area the last hours of the war. Nothing was spared from this carpet of bombs. I was with a comrade in the city center on that historic afternoon. The slowly increasing roar of hundreds, no, not infrequently over a thousand airplanes, with their bomb load was nothing new for us. But when the sirens in the second alarm stage with their deafening scream literally strained the eardrums to bursting, it was "serious", and in seconds everyone was like the rats in the cellar hole or in the next air raid shelter. That is what happened to me that late afternoon. The tension to the extreme. What is their next destination? Will they fly on - or - suddenly there was a crash, a quake, a tremor. The ceilings and walls threatened to collapse, again and again quakes all around! "The judgment of the world is upon us! Oh, will we prevail? God save us from this hell.” Each of these minutes becomes an eternity.
Then it was quiet. We came out of the cellar. Smoke and fumes waft toward me; a conflagration rages on the other side of the River Eger. Fires rage and blaze over 100 meters high. Where does the storm come from so suddenly in the direction of the fire? It needs oxygen and eats it up like the supply to a huge glowing furnace. - Whoever witnesses this only once, has an idea of what was going on in the many direct hits under the houses, where the refugees found their grave, buried alive in the cellars. - The military hospitals were spared, the enemy still kept to the Geneva agreements of the international Red Cross.
I knew that even here my stay was short-lived. The change, the wandering, moving from one place to another slowly became a habit. From the soldier's pay book it had been gathered that I belonged last to the regimental staff as an interpreter. I was therefore no less surprised to present myself one morning to the General Chief Physician. The reason was a trip to the Allied headquarters near Chemnitz on the next day, for a negotiation on the evacuation of the wounded from Carlsbad back to the Reich.
This time I was not to negotiate with prisoners of war as an interpreter, but as part of the defeated power with the victors. The Russians were standing not far from Carlsbad with their divisions, the Czechs were to get back their political self-government. That said it all, and the surrender of all German soldiers into Russian captivity could be foreseen. In order to avoid this at all costs, every effort had to be made to organize the necessary means of transportation for a speedy evacuation.
Hateful looks accompanied us upon arrival at the enemy headquarters. I did not expect anything good. As could be foreseen, the negotiation that was planned here took place in a negative atmosphere and as such, after much back and forth, came to nothing. We did not find and did not see any support for this difficult operation, which forced the Chief of Staff to make a decision in the end. On the contrary, I heard from what was said, that a delivery of thousands of wounded to the Russians, appeared to the Americans to be a welcome relief and solution. Unsuccessfully, our small party took its leave - with a white flag - back across the temporary demarcation line.
On this trip I realized, that my stay in Carlsbad would last only hours longer, and that under all foreseeable circumstances, I would have to decide for myself what to do - by the quickest means to Theusing and further across the German border. The "Wolves from the East" were once again at the gates of the city! Whatever the decision of our commander would amount to - evacuation or holding out - I was ready to march out at any hour. Few only knew about the unsuccessful negotiation on the evacuation of the military hospitals.
Morning broke and surprisingly came the announcement that anyone who felt physically unrestrained and well on foot, had to report immediately. - Everyone was dismissed, assigned daily rations, clothing and extra shoes. Thus equipped, everyone could begin his march toward home. Easier said than done for those who had been bombed out and driven away and who never found their home again. And what happened to those who stayed behind and fell into Russian captivity for years to come? – It had been very close for me!
And so everything came faster as I had silently hoped and expected. The commander had made the only right decision. With two comrades I soon found myself on the country road, Carlsbad was behind us, the direction was known to me, Theusing, my destination, had to be reached as quickly as possible. The 3 of us were soon sitting on a tractor trailer, albeit not in the most comfortable condition, until we reached the next village. The main thing was that it was faster than on foot. Then we marched for hours until there was another opportunity to jump on a wagon. So it went on until I reached Theusing towards evening.
A new border line had been established and was occupied by the Yank. That meant controls, disarmament, or imprisonment. Important things were taken from everyone or "expropriated". The trip was to continue from here to Pilsen. - So it was said! - Who had not heard of this place "Pilsen", the infamous collection camp! And here in the immediate vicinity were my loved ones. I dreaded the thought. Under no circumstances would I be taken into custody here. No, never ever! To be handed over to the Bolsheviks, to fall into their hands, that would be the end! A little further, further I could go, it was slow, and then it was time. I had to jump off to escape this and somehow try my luck! The roads and intersections were manned by posts - they were just everywhere. - Everyone wished me luck! They were all young soldiers, what was still ahead of them, for the time being no one seemed to think about it.
I crept along the next side road. Should I cross the field? I thought about it - maybe, - No! I was wounded, right arm still bandaged and in a sling, what else could happen to me! Already a Yank comes towards me with his machine gun: "Stop!" I explained to him that I live here with my family. Of course he does not believe me; I was still a soldier and wore the gray uniform. In the end I persuaded him to come with me, because it is not far. At least I want to see my wife again. "OK." He comes along. "This is where I live." I ring the bell and someone comes down the stairs. Gerdchen! In a few words I can only tell her: "I am a prisoner, I am being sent to Pilsen. I will see you again!" That was the end of our short reunion.
Vehicle after vehicle had piled up on the road. No one knew where to go. Straight ahead, to the right, to the south, everywhere stagnation in every direction. The guard remained stubborn and took me to the next vehicle of this collective transport. "Get up!" He had done his duty. I found a place among the comrades. I now belonged as the newest member to a prisoner transport with an uncertain future. Dusk, night was falling. - There was hardly any movement in this endless wagon train of prisoners. Only slowly did we move forward, one, two, three houses further. All right, at the most one block - it was getting darker. To dare to escape now, to jump off, back along the street to the house, was almost impossible under the eyes of the escort guard. Guards constantly moving up and down. In the light of the glaring headlights, there was nothing that escaped their gaze.
I had to wait for exactly the time until one passed - then I jumped off and quickly back to the following vehicle. It succeeded 3-4 times. Finally I found myself diagonally opposite the house. "Should I risk it again?" One last jump before the cars start moving again? Not yet! - There the next Yank racing past. – Now or never, I tell myself, here is the last chance. A jump to the left, seconds only, - I press flat against the door, the bell rings - I hear someone literally running down the stairs. My heart is pounding like mad, I hold my breath, cold sweat is on my forehead. The door opens! Captivity - escape - and liberation, as if in one breath. Gerdchen stands in front of me. "Lock up, lights out!" I fall into her arms. She had no doubt that it would be me. –
Again we could thank our Lord with all our hearts. Never during the last few years have I slipped out of my uniform so quickly as after this escape-like episode! - How faithfully Gerdchen had provided - I had the choice of two of my civilian suits, which she had taken with her from Silesia. - Unbelievable! – From where had this thought come to her then in wise precaution, when surely there were other things to think of that seemed much more important than these clothes? - Does this not clearly show how our paths were guided in spite of all tribulation and deprivation? Finally - we were together again in civilian clothes and nothing should separate us, come what may!
The windows were darkened, no ray of light penetrated to the street. Could a guard have become suspicious? I hear only the muffled engine noise of this endless column; they are on the move again with all the hundreds of ours, prisoners, in the direction of the prison camp Pilsen, where an uncertain future awaited them. It is only towards morning that things become quiet.
Gerda's escape with our loved ones
The war was over, at least the fighting and killing on the collapsed fronts in the East, South and West. The Führer had committed suicide, Berlin, the Reich capital, had been conquered by the Russians. - –
Millions of people had been running around like wandering sheep since this time of collapse - looking for their relatives, for a place to stay, a new home, for work and a living. The few trains, wagons mostly without windows and benches - we called them standing wagons - they were crowded with people, with the few possessions each carried - crammed together like sardines; it became a symbol of the times. About 10% of the German people had fallen victim to the war - killed in air battles, on land and sea; wiped out by carpet bombing at home; a number that exceeded 7.5 million. - Never had I guessed then, on my trip through Hiroshima, that the final decision of this war would end here with the explosion of an atomic bomb on August 6, ’45; would end with this horrific annihilation of some 30,000 innocent people.
Even more horrible was already 6 months before, on February 13-14, the destruction of Dresden, and similar things that happened over almost all German cities. Dresden was the last victim of this madness, - which on both sides - here to the extreme, led to an annihilation of everything humane in an unthinkable way, exceeding all limits. –
Hundreds of thousands of refugees who escaped from rape and extermination from the Russians at the last minute had found refuge in this single "oasis" Dresden. Where else? And there they came, surprisingly, in squadrons, the bomb fortresses, innumerable ---, two days and two nights it rained death and devastation. Over 300,000 innocent people, mostly refugees, met their deaths here; it was six times the number of victims that Hiroshima suffered when the atomic bomb fell.
If a letter had arrived from her brother Günter shortly before Gerdchen's escape, advising his sister to hurry to Dresden with the children before the Russians approached, as we learned later, we would hardly have seen each other again. Here, too, another guidance from above was obviously intended for us!
Gerdchen and mother, they were already in Theusing, when the doom came down over Dresden, only 120km away from them. They saw only the swarms and heard the dull droning of the more than 1,000 death messengers, which moved in the direction of Dresden through the ether.
Already in January, with the retreat of the German front, disaster fell upon the civilian population, due to the irresponsible actions of the regional leaders. "Too late for an escape!" On the refugee treks, 3 million perished from hunger and cold, were overrun and shot down by Soviet tanks. And from what remained, about ¾ million civilians were deported to Russia for forced labor.
By May 6, Breslau - declared a fortress - was in the throes of a 6-week, relentless guerilla battle with house to house fighting that had to be abandoned in the end.
Gerdchen's home town of Wuppertal had suffered the same fate as all the other towns. More terrible still were the phosphorus fire bomb carpets, which one could hardly imagine in their cruelty. People who did not escape turned into burning torches and then lay shriveled up in the streets – burned to pieces so that they could be picked up and discarded with an ordinary shovel.
Theusing - The second escape
The next morning - an American guard with a machine gun patrolled the road; several times he passed our lodging. Should I venture out? Would I be recognized? I had no identification except my soldier’s pay book, but that would be madness. I was no longer in uniform. We have to leave, it will be impossible to stay. They say the Czechs have taken over the government. If it is not true now, it will certainly be so in a short time. What that meant for a German was clear to us. Not far to the East stood the Russian, who continued to occupy the Czech Republic for the time being.
I needed an identity card and could only get it from the local commander of the local police. The American commandant's office, which had the provisional administration in its hands, was only a few streets away. Should I dare to submit myself once again to the customary examination and testing of my heart and soul? - The guard had disappeared. So I quickly went to the commandant's office, past the guards and into the office. Everything went well, better than expected. - After a few minutes, I was holding one of those valuable identity cards in my hand with 6 short words: "These five people have been vetted!” In addition, well-intentioned advice for the direction, place and a trailer that would take us in the direction of the south - Pilsen. I was amazed at all the kindness. "Pilsen the collection camp”, about which we heard only terrible things; where men were separated and never saw their wives and children again - condemned to forced labor in Russia. That was the fate of countless people in the post-war period. - Cold sweat beaded on my forehead just at the thought!
The few things that we quickly packed and took with us were not worth mentioning. Each of us had a backpack full, even my poor mother. Yes, setting out again - will she make it once more? Is it not inhuman to be hunted, chased like this? Where should we escape to this time???
Our home destroyed; the home once so dear to us, razed to the ground. Two children, one still in diapers - they had hardly any room left in their little wagon - what else was there to stow away? I nailed together a two-wheeled cart and put a sack on it in which Gerdchen had packed only the most necessary things. Most of it remained behind. Early the next morning we were ready to march.
A good map from our landlady should make the way over mountains and borders easier. A farmer was supposed to take us the first stretch out of town on his wagon - we waited a long time, he did not come. The first disappointment, precious time was lost. Mrs. Schneider and her little daughter, also from Bunzlau, asked us to take them with us. How could I? I had the responsibility for 4 people and did not know myself what our destination would be. Everybody was desperate, and no one knew what lay ahead for us. Mrs. Krause, our landlady, she had so faithfully taken care of us during the time, as far as it was possible. Very soon she too had to bow to the same fate. Since the terrible bombing of Dresden, where her husband was last seen, she had heard nothing more of him except the terrible word "Missing", like countless others who perished in those two days of horror. - To each his own path of suffering is destined. Ours continued from here after a short interruption - the second escape.
May 11, 1945: Our direction was clear! "Back to the Reich" and if possible by the shortest route. But where and how? The main roads were all occupied by the military and the side roads and country lanes were partially blocked. So all that was left for us to do was to slowly make our way from village to village. And when evening came, the question arose again: where could we find a roof over our heads, if possible, where our tired limbs could rest overnight? It was a long way back to the homeland. Again the same words rang through my mind - the Silesian song: “Of you, of you alone I dream, my dear homeland.” This time I ask: where was the homeland? - occupied by the enemy, the foreign power. It was no more.
Spring came into the country. A hot day was behind us. And so we were already grateful that our second flight did not have to happen in winter, as it is written in the Scriptures! The weather remained kind to us, so that we made relatively good progress on our "treck" (although we wandered through the countryside like miserable gypsies for almost 4 weeks).
Theusing was behind us. The farmer who was supposed to bring us for the first stretch had abandoned us. I had not expected much good from him anyway. The day was drawing to a close and there was no place in sight to find shelter. The tired limbs did not want to function anymore after these first (at least) 20 km of day march. Where did our dear mother get the strength to do this? I realized that this could not go on for long and that I would soon have to find other ways to manage our strength more economically.
A half-ruined hut close to the roadside offered us a makeshift refuge in this first night. We let ourselves fall as we were, without sleeping bag, close to each other, on the hard ground of mother earth. We were together, healthy, and for this alone we were thankful again and again from the bottom of our hearts and continued to entrust our paths to Him above.
We experienced it abundantly every day again, how He protects and guides His children. A clear, starry sky shone above us and let its reflection shine down on us miserable ones through the half-open and decayed roof. Where was the sleep in these hours? Whereas most of our thoughts revolved around the thousand and one things of the past, experiences, and what lay ahead of us. We remained in a state of half-sleep, called back to reality by every strange sound in those nights, until finally the first dawn on the eastern firmament announced a new day.
It was good to revive the stiff limbs. After a short snack of what little we had, we continued our journey. The Bohemian Forest was still ahead of us and we wanted to cross the border as soon as possible. Probably not the shortest way we chose for this, but it seemed to us the safest.
Every day brought new surprises. Since the Sudeten government came into force, hatred and persecution were abound. Therefore, who could know what was still in store for many who were displaced, hungry and dependent only on the mercy of a good fellow human being? It remained the fate of countless who we met, wandering - fleeing in all directions like ants on a destroyed nest.
We found good people already in the evening of the second day - a teacher's family. They took us in, the children could have their care, a bath, and we a straw bed in the attic. So we went via Palos-Einsiedel to Sangerberg. We spent the night in a barn on the hillside, thunderstorms were around us, the wind moved the old walls, and the old barn doors creaked and groaned from time to time at midnight, as if the old spirits were coming back to life and going in and out. Eerie, who had ever witnessed something like that?! Mother had survived that night the best and laughed at us after our report in the morning. Rightly so, such sounds were foreign to her, she was hard of hearing!
The next destination was Königswart in the Bohemian Forest, already close to the border. We slowly got used to the countless obstacles and detours; "tree-barriers", which were once supposed to hold back the enemy were no longer obstacles for us, although they cost us a lot of time to get around them on mountain slopes. How we managed and mustered the strength, especially Mother, remains a wonder. Slowly but surely we approached the border. We passed through Schachten, Motzersreuth and Wernersreuth, where we always met friendly people in the evenings who took us in, gave us milk for the children to eat, and provided us with a bed of straw on the ground.
The closer we got to the border, the more the insecurity of the many refugees and displaced persons became noticeable. Each wanted to know from the other, where can I get across safely! Who could say? Some followed us, undecided, wandering around. Questioning, desolate figures with misery staring out of their eyes. - We met a run-down soldier in a torn gray uniform. He followed us; he, too, wanted to go back home, across the border, but there the enemy was waiting for anyone in "gray", collecting him for transport to the camp. Finally, not daring to go any further, he stayed behind and disappeared stealthily into the forest.
Airplanes circled overhead - a helicopter flying low. They knew everything, were aware of everything and had long since recognized us, as I realized after a few minutes when we finally got to the border and through the barrier and I showed my ID: "Oh yes, you three and the two kids, we know. Ok. Go ahead!" And with that we were back in the Reich on the 14th of May, ‘45. What could happen to us now? What a feeling! Most of the others did not manage so well, especially if they lacked an ID from the military authorities. And what helped the most – being able to communicate in English.
A greeting, a kind word to the Yank, it helped at times, made it easier for us to move along on our arduous trek. Or was it a little compassion when they spotted the two little ones bundled together in the wagon? Those were in good spirits and knew nothing of all that was going on in those weeks of the second flight.
Many another check-points were passed. - One sergeant was visibly pleased when he noticed that I could communicate with him in English. A poor old woman stood beside him, pleading and begging him to let her through to the next village. Hard-hearted and arrogant he appeared to me, waving his riding whip in front of her, he did not leave the best impression on me here as the victor over the defeated. I made it clear to him that she was going to pick up the medicine in the next village that was prescribed by the doctor for her terminally ill husband. He finally let her go and held me instead. He told me to get on his jeep and off I went to the mayor's office, where I attended his negotiations as an interpreter.
An hour passed, I returned, where I found Gerdchen, mother and the children with anxious and questioning looks. "Everything is all right!" We were allowed to go on our way! And all the others who had gathered in the meantime? They had to wait, the mayor was to provide quarters. - I can still see all the desolate looks and recognize the unspoken question in their faces: "Why can you go on and we are not allowed to?" –Move away quickly, further on, an inner voice told me. – Do not look back! That was hard for me. But then, with each step forward, our hearts grew lighter and a reassuring feeling of security came over me, a grateful deep sigh! We were, after all, on German soil. A new beginning could begin here, a new life. Perhaps there was still a purpose in this madness we were escaping? What else was to become of our children for whom we lived, cared for and considered our first and last task and obligation of our existence?
We trekked through the Fichtel Mountains and further on through the nicely situated villages of Schachten, Motzersreuth and Wernersreuth. A little girl ran towards me on the road. "You will come to us!”, and insisted that we should come along. We were welcomed by a nice farmer's wife. Quickly the table was set and we were soon sitting at a table richly laid for us. The usual conversation went on, “where to, where from”, and incidentally the question: "How did it happen that you came to us tonight?" Embarrassed answer: "Wasn't it your daughter through whom you invited us in and welcomed us?" She laughed and explained, "Ah, that is it! Many refugees have been our guests so far, and when my little daughter sees them passing outside, she calls out, "Come in, come to us!" In this way, the little angel met us and they shared with us the "bread and oil in the jar" as long as there was still enough to share.
Elsewhere it was a farmer who gave us nice accommodations. On May 18, in Bischofsgrün, farmer Hermann let us sleep in his beds, for the first time in weeks a feather bed, a bath and great food as we had not had in a long time. They even insisted that we should stay another day, but we did not want to take advantage of their kindness and hospitality any further; there were so many others who could be helped in the same way. - What they still had, they shared with those who knocked on their door and that as long as the supply lasted. This was their motto!
We were glad and grateful when we found a simple bed of straw to which we were used to by now, somewhere in a barn in the evening, and then, for a change, a bed in an inn, where an evening meal was served. - So it happened on Ascension Day in Himmelkron. Two rooms were at our disposal. The next day we were able to get our first ration stamps for bread and sausage at the local government office.
But it was slow going; poor Grandma had no longer the strength: "Oh, leave me here; go ahead without me!" Unthinkable. But the feet simply could not go on. To give her some relief, she sat down on my cobbled-together 2-wheeled cart, bag underneath, and so we went on for stretches until we reached Kulmbach, despite Grandma's protests
In the meantime, we had found out a lot of things! About "motor pools" for transport where, for a long time already, no train was running anymore, even the milk wagon was used by many to get from place to place. We also received a better passport here, which entitled us to move on unhindered as far as the Rhineland. We left after taking Grandma to the departure point of the milk wagon, she could ride to the next town and rest at the station. And as arranged, we met up again here after our day's march. It went well and saved Grandma the agony of the march. This provided us with a welcome opportunity for Mother to ease the agony of the daily hard marches. We took her to the departure point and were able to meet her again rested in the evening at an arranged place, usually at the desolate train station of the next town. It also made my heart feel lighter. This way we could move faster. So we met again joyfully for the first time in the evening in Kronach, where we also stayed overnight.
And on we went; in the morning, Grandma got into her car again and we continued on the long march; next station: Knellendorf. In a dark barn we found shelter. The milk truck transportation remained a great help until we reached Sonneberg on May 23. This time we found shelter in a school with completely smashed windows that had been reserved for refugees. - Impossible for the children. Ternow's quarters were set up in the "Kaiserhof" the next day. “Emperor’s quarters” indeed! Refugees had seized it. - A huge stove in the kitchen ensured that every poor person got his pot of porridge boiling, and if only unobserved for a minute, found it cold somewhere else in a corner. The beds - who had not lain in it without cover. - Here, too, the war had left its mark.
Grandma was completely exhausted. Gerdchen's wrist was in pain, as if broken, her feet sore, without the insoles she needed. - We had reached the state of beggars. The last flour was rolled into dough with water from the washing commode, the last small bread for the weekend; the stores all closed. Only Monday we could get new stamps for food rations, and then the queues - queuing - endless waiting. I at the bakery, Gerdchen at the butcher’s, and Grandma with the kids - sick in bed. What was to become of us?
4 days passed in this state. The next day it was said: at 5:30 in the morning, stand-by for a truck leaving in the direction of Weimar. - In vain, early rising, long waiting. No truck comes. Back to the Kaiserhof! A ½ pound of butter and sausage is the result of hours of waiting in a queue. The next morning, the journey is supposed to continues to Neuenburg a.d. Saale - waiting, waiting - grueling - the hours pass and another day passes in vain.
Finally, on May 30, at 6 o'clock in the morning, we hitchhike to Camburg. Fully loaded, the wagon sways, full of women, men, children - bundles, boxes, baby carriages; like sardines, but we are happy that we are moving forward. Then, at 1 o'clock, we stop again; coffee is served, a little something to eat, everyone enjoyed it! And once again we changed trains. We reached Naumburg almost in flight!
Here we started again with our foot march, via Weißenfels to Halle, where we found our grandmother again in the late afternoon at the station bunker. We had to stay here overnight. It was as if walking into a waking nightmarish dream when we entered these underground chambers - a bunker. Filled with foul stench, stale air – people - people from all walks of life - stretched out - crisscrossed. There was no place for us to sleep, only the last corner of a bench next to a miserable figure! We were in the center of Germany, where no city had escaped the ravages of countless bombings. - With the first light of day, we were out of there to get a place on the next train, which was deployed outside the destroyed station. - We arrived in Könnern to walk the last stretch of the way on May 31, 1945, through green fields and tempting cherry alleys to Kleinpaschleben.
We had found each other again! Anni and her 4 children with her parents. In all the simplicity she had found refuge here. Where was Johannes? Months had passed and no sign of life from the East. There remained a long waiting and hoping - was he still alive? In captivity?
Mother had reached the end of her strength. Until here and no further, or was there still hope to go back to Silesia to her little house? The thought of being completely uprooted, lost happiness, expelled, homeless, was doubly hard to bear for an older person. We, the younger ones, still had the strength to live and we could start a new life, whatever it might be - it would happen with God's will. How gladly we would have taken Mother with us to the West Zone, but her decision was firm - to stay with Anni and the children. And Johannes, would he come? She wanted to see him once more.
So we too had to make a decision. Although Anni asked us to stay, my decision was firm - to go on to the West. It was said that the Russians would also occupy this part here, where the Americans were still at the moment. It became serious, and we knew from experience that in this case no easy escape was possible. With everything prepared, a wagon ordered for the early morning at 6 a.m. on June 11, 1945, that was to take us the first stretch towards the Harz Mountains to Brandenburg, came the hour of a farewell that so far became the most difficult of my life.
We had packed our bundles anew and loaded up our "precious possessions". - The dear, old mother stood at the end of the road and looked up at us once more, here where our paths were to part forever. - What misery lay behind her. Ups and downs and all the horrors of the last time; too much of all that! She bore it with patience, just like her physical disability - her hearing - which had deteriorated even more, and she was excluded from many conversations, especially a conversation in company, often lonely and withdrawn. This physical ...
end of part 2
English translation part 3 (pages 1-28)
pages 1-3
How did it come about that the wall and thousand-kilometer-long barbed wire entanglements and, finally, minefields were erected as a border across my fatherland?
Germany lay dismembered on the ground and the Russians got the Eastern part and occupied it. The borders were still partly open and thus, a possibility for the politically persecuted as well as for the hundreds of thousands of enslaved people to escape from the ruling communist system. Thousands, even millions, left everything and fled to the West.
How could this state of affairs be stopped? In East Germany, the danger of depopulation loomed; how could the administration counter it? These were the first concerns of the Russian rulers. They needed the people as slaves, the labor force, to squeeze out the last of what was left. - Where were the intelligentsia, doctors, technicians, and all the people who were otherwise necessary? They disappeared overnight and their number increased from month to month. Who did not risk everything to save the most precious thing, freedom? Here was the last opportunity - escape to the West. And who did not use it in this 12th hour, bitterly regretted it in later years.
Who was responsible for what happened here and in the following establishment of this "forced labor camp" for 16 million German citizens who were left? Negotiations between the occupying powers, the USA and the Russian administrative system, were currently underway. - Potsdam remained the historical place where they met and where also the "concern" about this condition between "Father Stalin" and the generous President Truman was discussed. "Why not build a wall!" spoke Truman, "very simple!" Stalin did not need a second hint and gave the order to his executioners to carry it out.
With this acquittal of the victorious powers began one of the greatest tragedies of the postwar period for the German people. The division of my fatherland into two halves and the enslavement of the Eastern provinces with their 16 million citizens, behind walls and barbed wire, is a crime which violates the primitive laws of all human rights. Who remembers today this tragedy that took place here. One has the feeling that this state of affairs is now considered quite normal by the world public.
While politicians in Washington keep their mouths very full and get very excited about the most internal affairs of other nations, East Germany remains untouched under the pressure of the communists. And Russia calmly continues to work in the enslavement of other peoples, - disregarding the "Helsinki Agreement", unconcerned and thus doing only what leads to its own advantage and achievement of world domination, disregarding what it co-signed as part of an international "understanding".
And still the cruel venture is repeated, where German citizens try to escape from the East to the West. How many who tried to gain their freedom sacrificed their lives, got shot, bled to death in the barbed wire, or lay torn apart on the minefield. And those who helped one or the other to escape were arrested and sentenced to long prison terms. - Millions of D-Marks have been paid within the last few years by the West German government and private parties to the East German government for the "ransom" of these poor people; - twenty thousand D-Marks is the average price, extortion money (bounty) in this modern "slave ransom" for the failed escape attempt of one of these poor people.
Who would like to live under this brutal communist rule? - Three times I narrowly escaped this brutal system. The first time from Bunzlau, our home, fleeing from the Russian armies, leaving behind everything we owned. Theusing in the Sudetenland (Czechoslovakia) followed, and once again Kleinpaschleben, one day before the invasion of Russian occupation forces. - Three times was enough. We had lost everything to save our bare life, our freedom. For me it meant the last, the most precious thing that I and my loved ones still possessed.
Is there still a meaning to all of this, I sometimes asked myself. Where was the security to start a normal life anew. Was Hamburg also only a temporary place of residence? As the ever uprooted, did we belong to a special group, condemned to pay the ultimate price for a lost war? Earthly it looked like it, but faith was stronger in view of the future, and God led us right. - As a displaced person from the East, I soon registered at the opening of the new emigrant quotas at the U.S. General Consulate. Was there an open door here after all? I hardly dared to pursue this thought further -- years were to pass.
______________________________________________________________________________
pages 4-10
January 15, 1979
The Poor Millionaire
We all became poor after the lost 1st World War and yet again rich as never before. I was even able to collect the money, but not in the money box or in the bank, it was other interests that were on my mind at that time as an apprentice boy.
We drudges had to deliver many a beautiful piece of furniture to the distinguished clientele. That often happened, and the customers often showed themselves noble and generous with a "tip". - I did not spend it on drink, instead, I "collected" the money. Ten or twenty thousand Reichsbank-notes, later also a fifty thousand Mark-notes were no rarity, and in the following months even the double or triple - even tenfold. - Such a tip, without feeling ashamed, I took it without blushing! What times those were!
"I became a millionaire!" How had I earned such a thing? Then, when inflation reached its peak, I had a "high quality" and interesting collection of all banknotes, which had everything, from one Reichsmark to billions. Similarly, I had a stamp collection up to the time when a simple letter was franked and carried the value of literally a hundred thousand and more Marks.
Will we have to experience something similar again? Are we not already on the best way there? Here in the U.S., "History Repeats Itself!" - The devaluation of the "almighty Dollar" is taking rapid strides. - Bill Poterson, a former neighbor from Malcolm Ave. in L.A., now in Gibraltar, just wrote me an interesting report, among other things: "The same house as ours that we had once bought for $17,500, is across the street and sold today for $78,000." - How much will it be worth when it changes hands the next time? This is just a small example. - Here is actually a possibility to become a "millionaire" again without any effort. And again an old saying proves its validity: "America, it remains the country of the unlimited possibilities.”
December 12, 1980
Today it is already nothing new to talk about millionaires and multimillionaires. The army of millionaires grows from month to month. Where is the value of the "almighty Dollar"?
"The paradox - the big lie in our modern society" (page 6)
1. ??
2. save money! Spend
3. the youth: Individuality equals Conformity
4. politics: tobacco cultivation and subsidization - warnings and taxes
5. rest of page is in English
(pages 7-10)
1980
- Reflections -
We live today in an age, a world, where old traditions, which represented so far normal and healthy traditions of our civilization, are thrown aside. Where this development, let's say "degeneracy" is to lead, makes us afraid of the future!
Mankind is in a stream which threatens to take everything with itself and offers no more support for the big masses. So it looks in our present! The materialism takes over, while the spiritual values, the purpose of our existence, find hardly more meaning. One sees how people numb their senses, and in many cases are driven astray to a frightening degree into actions that were previously unthinkable.
How much longer! God has patience with us. Man has become the greatest enemy to himself, in the conflict against himself and his own sinful works, which can only lead to destruction. I think of the growing generation, our grandchildren, how quickly they grow up. What have we not gone through on our pilgrimage here on earth - wars, flight, deprivation, hardships of all kinds. Who has ever known such things here in the hitherto so blessed land of earthly goods? A nation continues to live blindly in "luxury". How much longer? The writing is on the wall, clear and plain, yet unheeded!
Thousands of unsolved questions and problems which accumulate more and more, pile up like heavy thunderclouds in front of us; is this the inheritance which we leave to our children to solve, or are we already on the verge of the outbreak and collapse of a Western civilization? The decline of the Occident. Does not much point in this direction?
The uncertainty of the people’s situation, the inflation, is progressing rapidly. The devaluation of the "almighty Dollar", and the greed of a class which seeks to enrich itself from all the vices, crimes, sins, diseases and fears of mankind, is the order of the day. It has become the greatest exploitation and extortion racket in our history, where banks, lawyers, doctors, hospitals and those who under the guise of welfare exploit everything to live splendidly and seize riches. - Inflation is increasing, salaries and wages are rising inexorably.
Where does that leave the older class, which can no longer keep pace with these conditions; those who thought they were secure in their twilight years and now see their hopes fading. "History repeats itself." And it is also proving true: America, the land of "unlimited possibilities" does have limits, from its glorious heights to unimagined depths. - How quickly the picture has changed in this blessed country; where power and greed of many interest groups in all government circles have taken over the supremacy and the decision of laws. The trust of the people is slowly fading amid the constant contradictions of their deputies and elected officials. It is no longer the service to the people and an orderly democracy, how down to the lowest departments the state employees and teachers at the post office and schools go on strike and force their demands. Here leaves us order and discipline without which a state can no longer function in the long term. - These are only a few characteristics that point us in the direction in which we are heading. –
"Freedom", yes freedom is the big word. Freedom in all areas. And especially there, where man can let off steam, pursue his immoral vices, sex, and almost animal lusts. - Laws for freedom are many, even for the criminal, the murderer, he gets his rights and his freedom. But who asks about the victims, hundreds of thousands every year, and the surviving relatives? Freedom beckons the murderer sometimes already after few years. The death penalty was abolished by the Supreme Court, but became by popular vote a law again in many states, - but "never executed!"
Laws of the supreme court appear in great contradiction with the will of the people. Where is justice when the judgment of one Court is thrown overboard by the next higher, and the murderer in many cases is set free again only because he is defended by one of the "most cunning lawyers"?
The $ speaks the decisive role in all elections of our people's representatives; rarely the personality, the honest character of a candidate. - Whoever has the most financial resources comes to office, with millions spent in the public campaign. - One clearly knows and is aware that after the "bought victory" enormous sums of money will replenish the bank accounts in double measure in a short time. - The "biggest game" of politics pays off and teaches us how they became "big and rich".
Even here, in this quiet circle of people among whom we live today, the symptoms of our present become visible. A state enterprise, a shipyard, employs well over 20 thousand employees of all strata; it is not the people on the very top of this hierarchy that we encounter here. They are easily recognized, a calm and even-tempered type, all of whom find sustenance at an abundantly blessed feeding trough. "Uncle Sam" (the government) takes good care of its members, in every way. Just as the annual salary increase in the House of Representatives and the Senate is granted without much fuss, so here, too, in the lower classes, it is planned so that no one comes up short, everyone gets his due. The work well divided, the spare time very well used; this all belongs to the war economy, is urgently necessary for the defense.
The annual budget is almost 50% of the total government spending. There is no worry, the money is there for it, the taxpayer has to take care of it. And if that is not enough, the money printing press goes into action. No, a government employee will not be short on money. The sources have not failed yet and the energy of the faithful are being preserved with plentifully provided vacations and recovery breaks, needless it remains to mention, the many holidays, which are entitled to the servants of the people. - They need the rest more than ever from the "strenuous service" at the desks and in the workshops.
High is the number of those who retire early, or are preparing to do so. A small careless accident, a sore backbone and other things after years of public service make it easier and sometimes faster to leave this ‘club’; after all, it promises a good accident and state pension for the rest of one's life. - No, not only that, only then can the real work begin on which one has concentrated for so long. – Blessed is he who found admission to this state club of Uncle Sam early in his young years.
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p11-28
Beginning missing
... for the most part still a huge pile of rubble. I saw no disadvantages in this new decision. On the contrary, it had many good sides. The children could grow up in free nature, and above all, in the midst of a Christian environment. - One thing I had noticed during my first visit was that people lived here who were serious, with a pastor like Brother Sieburger and his preaching of the Word, which was also a blessing to us. With this observation, all the doubts that still existed gave way and we could look forward to the future with a clear view. The first preparations began. I was to have my own business. Machines and tools, where from? Funds from a Ford donation from the USA for refugee aid were available. I traveled to the Rhineland. In Düsseldorf I found what I later needed to set up the business.
The time of our departure came in the late fall of 1950. Good and bad days were behind us, we had met new friends, and that during the extreme low of my existence, the imprisonment in the Neuengamme camp. Here, where people in need and in often almost hopeless conditions had to get along together, some learned to appreciate the other in comradeship and friendship - Heinrich Gotze, Herbert Blunert, a senior teacher who had been bombed out. We were allowed to stay with them overnight during the last days. He had no apartment anymore, only a divided classroom of a school was the abode of his family of 4. A fully loaded truck with our jumbled belongings was ready to be loaded at the freight station. So many things that had accumulated in the past 5 years. - Off to Alexisdorf.
My attic apartment, which I had so painstakingly rebuilt myself, was advertised for sale, and I found no difficulty in finding buyers in the prevailing housing shortage. But for the right customer, the housing office had a final word to say. That is, who would be the next occupant of my apartment - a roof over the head.
Alexisdorf had not made too friendly an impression on my first visit. This thought plagued me the closer the train brought us to our new home. The landscape became barren. - The Weser- Emsland with its flat areas, pastures, fields and then finally a monotonous picture of moor and heath. Tree growth, which helps to give the landscape a friendlier face, was missing. And what would Gerdchen say, once we had to move into one of these barrack rooms that would serve us "for the time being" as a makeshift home? A disappointment, an imposition? I was afraid. We, who were not at all spoiled, after all that lay behind us, were supposed to find our way around here? Brother Arnstatt, the old, dear "patriarch," took us lovingly into his family for the first few days. The girls arrived a few days later and we settled in, more or less, at our new home.
The thought that this would not be a permanent condition and at most last for 6 months lightened our minds, and we lived as Christians. Half a year, it became an experience in itself that slowly unfolded like a colorful picture book before our eyes. Unfortunately, it did not always show its best colors. Here we lived with a few dozen families under one roof, poor displaced people, uprooted like us and millions of others, and still – they were not the poorest among those.
In the years to come, many of them would once again own their own land. Others emigrated to Canada. A huge program in the reclamation of the formerly barren moor and swamp lands had begun in the Weserland. Drainage canals crisscrossed the terrain. It was highly interesting to see how, between two powerful steam engines, a plow pulled back and forth on a cable through the moorland, overturning clods of sand and peat soil up to 2 meters deep and turning it into fertile farmland. Large areas of land became arable in this way. Thus, a new landscape slowly emerged, with its settlement at the core - Neugnadenfeld.
I experienced how the first buildings rose on this newly won earth. I helped, because one supported the other and lent a hand where it was needed. This also kept me very busy from morning to evening. Our own construction was not to begin for some time yet. But when the time came, there were also enough hands to help, the Jahnke family and others with whose construction I had helped before.
The time up to the beginning of our new building remained a laborious and sometimes persistent negotiation, particularly with the responsible representatives of the Meppen district administration. I was speechlessly surprised - almost despondently disappointed, when I checked the first plans for our house! - We were to live in such a building in the future? - I changed the plans as best I could, enlarged the workshop, and submitted them back to the office with an accompanying letter.
I soon got to know our government councilor Dr. D. Schulze. I encountered arrogance and presumptuousness during this first discussion. After all these years, one sentence of the government councilor still rings in my ears: "Mr. Ternow, I thought you would fall on your knees before me that you would receive a settlement at all!” Who could have expected this? I had never heard or experienced anything like this in my life. I had ended up in a hornet's nest. It was not ingratitude that led to a conflict between my ideas and the gentlemen when I presented them with my building plans. A new building of the late 20th century, without a bathroom-washroom, without a flush toilet, with the door to the cow barn from the kitchen (probably very practical) - was impossible for me. And many other things, that were really based on purely practical considerations, were completely missing here. –
Were we refugees second- or third-class citizens? Or did they want to put us on an equal footing with the small farmers of this area? The typical Emsland farmer, he lived in contented circumstances that were still 100 years back. I got to know them in their houses. There, as mentioned, not much of modern live was to be found; let alone any sing of “cultivation of home decor” or a “living culture”. Here, where still half a pig, the ham, hung in a corner from the kitchen ceiling, surrounded by swarms of flies from the adjacent cow and pig sty, where the thick maggots, that, when fat and stuffed, fell to the ground and escaped. I will hardly ever forget this first insight into a farmstead. No, - I was not used to such things and had no desire to become used to this.
And so, the cold war between Dr. D. and comrades versus interior designer Ternow had begun and it remained a spot of tension for a long time. In the following months it soon became clear to me that a warmer climate could only be achieved by sharing schnapps and beer in an inn. Even if I showed no interest in this, or the opportunity presented itself, slowly but surely I reached my goal. My wishes had to be taken into account in the end. –
The time came when the first bricks and cement blocks arrived on the building site. How many loads had to be unloaded from the nearby barges on the Coevorden-Piccardie canal and brought to the construction site by light railcars. It remained a laborious work, sometimes into the late evening hours, with sore fingers from the cement blocks that were handed from hand to hand in a long line of helpers. How many gloves were destroyed here! - And Gerdchen held her own. She was also in the midst of this and worked hard.
If in the circles of these new settlers I was silently regarded as a maverick, because word soon got around what my opinion was, it had its good consequences in the end. It was remarkable how other building plans changed and humane dwellings appeared. And even if I saw the disfavor of the settlement society abundantly directed at me, the purpose was fulfilled, and many a one who saw his house build up later was silently grateful to me.
Sweat and hard work remained until the last roof tile, which brought the exterior to completion. The Weser-Emsland weather was not too kind to us during this period. I still remember the storms that raged from the north over the wide barren spaces and brought the freshly built rooftop to collapse, and that also threatened to tear off the roofs from the barracks. This happened later even to our new building.
Then there were days when it seemed almost impossible to continue working on the construction. The progress was slow and our patience was tested. The barracks life, something completely unfamiliar, contributed in part to this feeling. The one single dark room available to us did not help either. What was not all living here under one roof in this confinement; a community of people, thrown together, that had to find a way to get along. We met many who remained strangers to us for a long time, in their nature and in the characteristics of their daily life that I could observe here in the midst of them. But nonetheless, we slowly found our way in the knowledge that this also would pass.
New surprises arose frequently. "Pets" had joined us in setting up their habitat in these barracks, in our little world, or were already firmly seated when we took possession. It was a most unfriendly encounter. We had to enter the fight - and remained winners! But only after all weapons failed and as a last resort, poisoning with DTT, a donation from America, succeeded. That this weapon itself could become dangerous to us, while everything around us was destroyed, we did not suspect at that time.
In the religious field we found two divided factions. In our barracks we had the opportunity, through indirect participation, to listen to the evening meetings of the "Pentecostal movement". The meetings often extended into the midnight hour and the volume increased to the point of frightening our children, even the adults close by, who had to listen to such abundance and exuberance. Strange, all the different people who got together here. I felt strange when for the first time I had to hear and literally listen to something so completely foreign like that religious sect. The climax of the "music”, the singing with an alleged "speaking in tongues" seemed uncanny to us. But we also got used to this with time.
Under such circumstances, everyone knew what the other roommate was doing. - And if he was not completely clear about the most private things and circumstances, the dear neighbor soon discovered with an always watchful eye and sense what his fellow man was doing. Already early in the morning it began! - On a little place known to all of us, that everyone used to visit from time to time, a number of older and younger women gathered together; for one must have whispered it to the other. One of them even had a chair quickly at hand to climb up and see what and who was hiding behind a cell wall. After everyone here had quietly convinced themselves and satisfied their curiosity, they gently left the poor young "toilet snorer" alone until dawn opened his eyes. - Poor primitive people. -
Most of the other residents considered us strangers, at least we did not belong to their groups, but we slowly got to know them, one by one. Among them poor Brothers and Sisters with the same worries and questions of life, poor and alone. - It is already late. The children are getting ready to sleep. Suddenly, an old woman appears, wrapped in a headscarf, a long black skirt and blouse and wooden shoes, in her everyday cloths that are typical for her home in the East. - She enters without knocking and silently sits down on the chair near the door, the only place that is free. I greet her, look and wait, but no sound, no sign of what is coming. The children close by, already in bed behind the curtain, half thrown back, get spooked. "Well, how are you?" I finally say to break the silence. - Not a sound! - "Well, what's new?" – Silence! – “Let her rest, the poor woman", I think. - Finally, after a long pause, the first sentence: "Can you lend me some money?" - I had no earnings for 6 months and received government support myself. How could I fulfill her wish? She stayed sitting for a long time although we wanted to go to sleep.
Many of these old people lived in their own closed world and could no longer find their way, much less adapt to this world. And did we not feel the same way? Brother G. was the first to give us good advice and to assign us a place to store the winter supply of potatoes (outside). On this occasion we met a dear family, Brother and Sister M. with little daughter Hilde, and a much better place was assigned to us by him. We spent many a pleasant evening hour with them, during which he told us about the good and the bad days of his life. He let me have my say now and then and often interrupted me with a strong remark, incomprehensible to me, which I understood in his somewhat Eastern dialect of speech as "Satan!". Did I hear right? How could he let loose such an expression of "astonishment" every few moments? And this in the Christian atmosphere of his family!? No, something was wrong here and I considered it my duty to point out to him what seemed so strange and incomprehensible to me here. A suddenly puzzled, questioning look met mine. - "I don't quite understand!" was his reply. "What should I have said?" A brief, serious reflection - and there, a grin all over his face. "Only now I understand you. You mean "Sagan," an expression of astonishment common at home!" Here was a little misunderstanding. Quickly clarified. - "Sagan!" - "Satan!" - We all laughed heartily.
The construction proceeded briskly, despite some incidents and small obstacles. Winter, the rainy season, came too early and put us further behind. The cellar was full of water and, as fate would have it, a curious trespassing "inspector", and that just had to be Brother Wiedman, took an icy bath in that cellar pit in all darkness due to a careless step on our new building site. Not that he ever complained to me about it, that would have been even more painful for him. But fortunately, someone helped him out of the pit, and the matter quickly made the rounds to the amusement of many and with condolences to this "deep fall" from those who daily visited his grocery store.
The construction slowly approached its completion. The "Richtfest" (topping out ceremony), an old German tradition, with the wreath over the roof ridge, kept the masons and carpenters in good spirits. It was celebrated! We could not escape this beautiful custom. - A good meal and the accompanying "drinks" as the main attraction, had to be presented! Brother Wiedman had offered to reserve us some "real good stuff" from the stock of his ‘juice shop’. It served its purpose. It quenched the thirst and raised the spirits of the journeymen carpenters and masons.
A few days passed. The "topping-out ceremony" was behind us, and there, what I had no idea about before, suddenly came to me as a revelation. I had to be told: "Brother Ternow, you have obtained "Moonshine" from the Neugnadenfeld Brothers!" What Brothers? Had I understood correctly? I did not think it possible. Not long ago, some of these "moonshiners" had been summoned to court to answer. They had thought nothing wrong of their activity. After all, they were used to making moonshine in their former homeland in Poland. The judge dealt with them graciously on this occasion because of this! But now I had to listen to something like a well-meant moral sermon from our dear Brother Sieburger: "And you, Brother T., how could you have supported all this?" - How could I know from which stock this hooch came. It had not been recognizable from any label on the bottles. - Brother Wiedman had put me in a very bad light with his statements. Could I express my real opinion about this Brother? - Moonshine was no longer! Sister Rahn now had this business legally and firmly in hand in her inn. But not the drinking among some of the "quiet connoisseurs", which Mrs. Rahn took care of in her pub. And indeed, there were two factions in this otherwise so peaceful community! The teetotalers fought hard for their cause. And just imagine, there were even "incidents". –
Weddings were celebrated according to old custom. There was still no hall in place for such and similar celebrations. They took place after the church wedding in a barrack hall in the evening with dance and merry get-together. Why not! "But how can man celebrate here in peace if the evil neighbor does not like it!" - Once again the invited guests were together on a balmy summer night and great festivity reigned among those present, and for the young bride and groom certainly an eventful end to the day. The windows of the hall were wide open and the joyful sounds poured out in the wide perimeter of the camp. But what happened soon after remains indescribable. This had long been a thorn in the side of old Mr. St. next door, and he must have wondered how to put a stop to it all. So an idea quickly matured into action. - From a full pit he scooped out a bucket full, and suddenly, in a wide arc through an open window, in the midst of this merry society, poured "something" not to be named here. The wedding celebration, in the scent of roses and perfume, came to an all too quick memorable end on that balmy summer night.
After the completion of the final construction work in June 1950, we were able to move into our new house. What a difference! How grateful we were to have our own home. There were still many small things to be done in the house. I entrusted Brother Rüster with the painting of all the rooms, and a friendly home now stood where just a year ago a barren peat and swamp area seemed unfriendly. A large garden with several acres of land. On July 17, 1950, the opening of the carpentry store took place. In a simple ceremony with Brothers Sieburger, Underling and Arnstadt and the first apprentices and journeymen, the foundation stone was laid for a new beginning. And the verses "Where my feet go, what my hands work; praise the Lord and bless my deeds" from our old Brethren hymnal, rang through the workroom. A quiet morning devotion at the beginning of this day full of memories.
Outside, the land lay fallow and was waiting to be cultivated and planted. The heaviest work, plowing and sowing, was done by Brother Gehr with the community tractor, which made things easier for the smallholder settlers. Although I did not know much about active farm work, and even less did Gerdchen, we had committed ourselves to do our best for the first years. What we then later had in mind with it, was left to us (so we were indirectly given to understand by the cultural office). First and foremost, it was about building up my independence, a business and the workshop, and secondly, about fulfilling my agricultural obligations at the same time.
This meant something completely new for us "city dwellers". In the second year we could already bring a good rye and potato harvest under roof. - The cornfield was ripe for harvesting. According to the usual custom, the mowing began around the edges of the field, which the reaper with the scythe started early in the morning. Only then came the machine, quickly followed by the two of us gathering and tying the cut ears by hand into thick sheaves. The grain shocks were lined up in rows, as was familiar to me from my youth in our country side. It was for me, and especially Gerda, a new, unfamiliar work; not easy in the midsummer heat that prevailed on that day.
In spite of all the good will a person could muster, Gerdchen had taken on too much. I should have known better. - The field work, plus the heat, she suddenly blacked out; a fainting fit. Almost at the end she fell into my arms. Then we sat at the field edge; for how long? There they stood, the sheaves with the ripe ears, the first harvest, our blessing. And the very next day the threshing machine stood in front of the door. The wagons fully loaded close beside it. And again my Gerdchen stood - this time high up on the machine, and cut the sheaves, on and on, unstoppable, handing them over to the next one that let them disappear between the whirling dust into the maw of the thresher. I stood at the other end and saw how slowly one bag after another was filled with the golden harvest and carried it to the attic.
The potato harvest, how would it turn out? We were already a little worried in the spring. The first sprouts that had broken through the earth here and there with their greenery offered a picture of confidence. Soon the field was adorned in green; in full growth. - But what were those interesting little black and orange striped beetles? So cute to watch at first glance. At a next meeting with my neighbors, the conversation happened to come to this observation in my field. - "Colorado potato beetles!" is what I hear him say. - Colorado potato beetle? I had never heard of them in Germany. So that is what they looked like! They could eat a field in a short time and disappear again in the ground, laying their eggs for a new brood, which then continued the mischief the next year with newly united forces. How had this plague naturalized itself in Germany?
A total and lost 2nd world war lay not yet many years behind us; it had resulted in a devastation of many cities with bomb carpets. "Total war" meant "By whatever means!" And the potato beetle was conscripted in this war and dropped during the fight behind the fronts in our fields. The "potato." How could a Germany continue to exist without the potato, which was the main vegetable on every family's table at almost every meal? The enemy was well informed about this, too. –
So we learned about this illegal immigrant, which became a great danger and spread. Already after a few days we saw a devastating effect. It was high time and a quick declaration of war was now necessary. A new war began. Rosemarie and Waltraud were our two rescuers. Equipped with tin cans, they searched row after row and were rewarded for it. For the chickens there was a fat meal on the first day, but after they realized that it was not "corn kernels", we found no more helpfulness among them. We became masters of the situation. Unfortunately, not every farmer did his duty to eradicate the plague once and for all, so the whole field had to be sprayed several times. The children were happy when this freed them from their search and allowed them to pursue their play. - The harvest was abundant and good. – Even the 2 piglets that were grunting in the barn, waiting to be fattened prospered well. - So began the fat years after all the lean times that lay behind us.
The first two typical black and white "Emsländer piglets" I had bought from a local farmer. He wished me luck and success with the animals after the trade was completed, but he did not think much of us settlers with our strange methods of agriculture and animal husbandry. - And rightly so! What did I know about dealing with pigs? Gerdchen did her best. Every day, buckets of potatoes were boiled, mixed with rye meal and fed. Lakustus and Jasphia (unsure of names) thrived splendidly. Our farmer came by one day with a chair for repair. He inquired about his brood and I showed him what was developing in the sty. I still see how his eyes grew big and bigger. These were supposed to be his piglets of yore? Astonishment! - I had to explain to him the recipe of our feeding, because he had not yet bred such magnificent sows in his barn after this short time. They brought it on something over 2 Centner. One was sold, the other consumed for sausage and ham, which we had not seen for years, let alone tasted. Master butcher E. understood his business 100% in this case. Also from the next breeding, splendid specimens came out. Only one had eaten itself "too full" in the first weeks. The poor animal lay dead in the stable one morning.
They were clean, intelligent animals; I always felt sorry for them when they went on their last walk. I saw to their welfare, their access to the outdoors, every week. Then we went through the open countryside, an outing they were always waiting for with eagerness, where they enjoyed their natural freedom. - Even the children had a lot of fun: Who do I see through the window? Rosemarie riding on Lakustus at a pig gallop in the back of the garden! No wonder that later the last trot, over to Epping's slaughterhouse, became a sad memory.
Each animal had its own name. Even of every chicken, of the Gold Collar, Fuzzy Comb, or the Golden Hen with the golden eggs was often spoken of! They all wanted to have their outing too. And that took place very soon too often - over to the vegetable garden. The fence was high and still no obstacle for these birds to fly out, until I unceremoniously clipped their right wing. That was also when the proud rooster stopped visiting the neighbor's coop, where he was supposedly having a little affair with a favorite strange hen. - He always had a "chosen one", so there was often a fight until the right one appeared on the roost close to him when he went to sleep; and until this happened, there was always a spectacle that could be observed.
I had foregone the donation of a New Jersey cow in favor of others. The animals had been imported by plane to Northern Germany. The once intended cow shed next to our kitchen had already been converted into something better, a bathroom. Chickens, goslings, a rabbit, the pig breeding, and our black dear Kitty called "Panther", provided plenty of work and distractions without also having to milk and feed a cow.
I slowly had to start devoting myself more to the business interests. The furniture business that Gerdchen had taken over promised us success. Finished kitchens and living room cabinets were selling well. Whole bedroom furnishings on the other hand, that was a risk. Should we try the extended trade? A truck with 5 bedrooms is at the door one fine day. A risky decision - should I take a chance? - They were all sold. –
No matter how small the trade, it brought in more than enough work. The old saying remained true. One room of our house had to be cleared for storage space and to set up the stuff, our bedroom! Ternow's modern patent folding beds offered a good solution for this purpose for space savings. The most popular items were the beautiful Schlaraffia mattresses, a previously unknown brand in our area. How much comfort they brought to many a new home!
One thing was bothering me a lot. Our roof was not completely tight and needed a thorough inspection. What third-grade material had been used there, with cracks and holes where the rain dripped through the roof tiles and ceiling in countless places. "It'll go away with time, once the dust and spider webs settle!" the contractor indicated to me with a friendly expression. "Spiders were supposed to seal my roof!" Where has there ever been such a thing? "Ternow was on the black list of these crooks and gave them a hard time." - according to Dr. Schulz. - That explanation really sounded like a fairy tale. I insisted! - The roof was re-roofed.
I had no dry place to stack the wet lumber from my storage room until that time, so necessary for all the construction work that was coming to completion - windows for a number of new buildings. It was set up to dry anywhere where there was a heat source or warm, dry corner. Even in the living room around the small tiled stove a drying storage area was set up.
There were still many hurdles to overcome in the course of the following years. My business was equipped with all modern machines and tools to perform any type of work. Only the finishing, painting, and staining work caused difficulties. A dust-free, enclosed space was urgently needed for the spraying process with compressor for finishing. Construction began again and so a side wing was built on the main building. Except for the masonry work, everything else was done by ourselves. In a short time, the annex was ready and the first serial production of cribs could now begin. - It was not earthly riches that we acquired in Neugnadenfeld. Effort and hard work lay behind everything we did, but all the work was also graced by blessings.
The small village grew. Whole streets gave testament to the diligence of the people who found a new home here. Many things were still planned, a church in the center, a parsonage. Church services were still held in a large barrack hall. A lot of blessing was done here through the preaching on Sundays, the Bible lessons and the singing which I knew well from my childhood in the Brethren Church.
Brother Sibmeyer (Sichmeyer?), our venerable pastor was familiar with his congregation and knew each individual. We met often and became friends through an inward bond. In spite of some disturbances that unfortunately arose in the last year of our stay, it remained a cordial understanding and I owe to him a coming closer to and inner growth in Christian life through the preaching of the Word. - We got to know other brothers and sisters, dear people; many of them are no longer in this oh-so-peaceless world. – These days, Brother and Sister R. are the only ones with whom we are still in contact from that time.
As so often in life, things did not always go smoothly. There were storms, setbacks that we experienced. For example, we experienced a storm that threatened us and wanted to bring down our gable for the second time. That storm raged one autumn night. Anxious hours of wakefulness - could the fury increase even further, in this raging out there, which made everything groan and shake? I became frightened. I had taken out fire insurance with our friend Martin B. and at the same time - probably as the only settler - storm insurance. - Yes, the storm increased more violently than ever, as if holding its breath for a last second before smashing everything. Our children slept peacefully right under the roof. - We must bring them downstairs! -The gable! There, at that moment a tremor - crash- the gable, is it collapsing? "The children!" we cry out, and rush upstairs. "Where are you?" Tired, half-awake voices answer, "What's wrong?"- We snatch them from their warm little beds. What a night!
The gable was still standing the next day, but the storm had torn off a large part of the roof tile over the bedroom. We were mercifully spared and thankful that nothing worse happened. I called our insurance friend the next morning, "I had a little roof damage last night!" He thought he heard a joke! The insurance company promptly paid. That frightful night paid off for him, because many of our new settlers soon took out storm insurance as well. After all, one did not know when another night like this could happen again.
English Translation (pages 1-32)
My childhood
How far, how far, how far away everything lies in the retrospective view of my existence. - Childhood memories that become visible once again in these lines, and like fleeting rays, light up before the inner eye. The sunny days of youth in a parental home with two brothers, of whom I was the youngest. –
I was one year old when my mother, as a widow, moved from the big city of Berlin to Silesia to her parents. Berlin was not the right place for us children to grow up without a father. And so I owe so much to this small town of Gnadenberg, a settlement of the Moravian Church*1, where the first years of a carefree youth took place in happiness, freedom, and a healthy environment. The first memories are anchored here, where the consciousness of a young human life began to form.
Gnadenberg Number 16, a two-story apartment building with four families and two small attic apartments under the roof, was a lively house. Up to the gutter, the south and east sides were covered with vines. The old weathered oak wooden door was usually wide open. We children ran, who knows how many times during the day, over the white-washed worn sandstone corridor, in and out, and up and down the stairs. On the second floor, down on the right, was our modest apartment, plain and simple, with a kitchen, a "good living room," and a bed-sitting room; a refuge where a dear mother cared for her three "heroes." –
What do I know about my father? Only what my mother told me about him and the fleeting years of a happy marriage during their short time together. So today, I may say: "My father was a wanderer, and it is in my blood too!" - Never stopping, never resting. At 33, his short life ended, and his parents and grandparents have records of some of it. Mother remained a widow. She alone bore the responsibility of our upbringing, which was not always easy, but above all, I owe her one thing: her Christian example, which has remained a faithful guide throughout my life. –
In "Rixdorf" - today Neukölln, Berlin - on the Hasenheide, grandfather Ternow had his blacksmith's shop as a respected citizen and master and head of an old guild. Father was the youngest of 6 siblings. He attended secondary school, was one of the best students, then started his apprenticeship in business administration. – The house with the old hardware store "Schmid & Co." where he trains, still existed for many years. My favorite aunt lived next door, high up on the 3rd floor. Countless times in later years, I would run upstairs to her during visits to Berlin, and she told me a lot about him.
Mother and father had gotten to know each other in the Christian youth movement. It was the "revival period" in the second half of the 19th century. A blessed period that mother often spoke of. Father became one of the founders of the C.V.J.M. *2 in the Friedrichstr., where he worked with his friends Eberhard von Rothkirch, Paul Le Seur, and other faithful co-workers, contributing to his further spiritual growth as a Christian. - Mother and father were the same age, born in 1877 (Father was born April 9, 1877; Mother on October 18, 1877). They were married on April 18, 1903. Father's professional activities had been quite varied in his later years. But very soon, richer in accumulated experience, he found a good job as the first authorized signatory at Anelier Farben AG, which was in the early years of the beginning of the "BAYER consortium" - Today the largest chemical plant in Germany. Unfortunately, his job there lasted only a few years. An illness gnawed at his health. The unfavorable conditions in these chemical plants at that time, toxic gases and air pollution did not help to improve his condition. Too little attention was paid to these health-damaging influences or to improvements. The damage to health was recognized too late.
Despite some longer recreation and health trips to Davos, Switzerland, the Black Forest, southern Germany, and the North Sea island of Borkum, the desired improvements were only ever short-lived. In the few years of his happy marriage, it remained a constant change from place to place—Berlin, then Köpenick and Eberswalde, where I first saw the light of day. Here, father had taken over the management of a Christian recreation home. Finally, a stay in Zemitz in Pomerania followed the newly acquired property of a "farmstead" with horses, cows, and pigs. Of all this, he had hardly any knowledge, and even less recovery was to be expected. God intended it differently with him. Also, in Zemitz he did not find what he expected, but he had unfortunately been advised to do this. Instead of getting better, his condition got worse. He came to Greifswald to the clinic, where he was released from severe lung disease and led home to the Lord, who had watched over his life. It was the hardest time for our dear mother, now all alone in the whole wide world.
The farmstead was dissolved and then sold. It had not been what father had imagined to begin with. A decision made too quickly, through wrong advice, that did not come to a good end.
Mother was now alone with her three boys, one of them still in diapers, a one-year-old. Where should she go? Back to Berlin? No - that was not for her and the children. Grandmother Lohde had moved back to her homeland, the province of Silesia, after her grandfather retired. In Gnadenberg near Bunzlau, she had found a quiet little place. And so mother followed with us children, where we grew up in a healthy rural environment.
Grandma and grandpa Lohde, the grandparents, lived not far from us in a small house at the "Schriemsteg" on the property of the mansion of the Sikenius family, Grindenberg #1; my first memories of my dear grandparents are connected to this place. They felt safe and secure in this quiet little place.
We boys loved to romp around in the courtyard by the fountain, under the shady branches of two mighty walnut trees. Grandfather was always active, and liked to occupy himself with all sorts of things, and whenever a small repair was needed, he was there to help. He preferred to stay in his open shed, his workshop, and to file on the bench vise when there was a lost key to be made again. He had learned the locksmith profession.
If there was nothing special that needed to be done, he disappeared early on a walk to the nearby forest to look for berries or mushrooms - the particularly tasty chanterelles. His walk through the next village, Klein Krauschen, led him past the "Schulzen", the local pub. Here he stopped for a bite to eat and a quick Schnapps or Korn*3! Grandma was not supposed to know! And indeed, probably never knew. Our friend and letter carrier told me about it years later, when grandfather was no longer with us. He followed the same route every day in the course of his duty and often met grandfather in the village tavern. Quite often, the "berry picking" was not a great success! - Grandmother was always surprised to find so few berries in the little bucket he would always place on the garden wall before entering the house from the street. –
Grandmother was a very energetic person. Yes, she knew what she was doing and had a strong influence on us children, and so many things stayed with me in vivid memory. – And there was a good reason why, after Grandpa's retirement, she moved away from Berlin, the big city, where so much happened with all the "shameful vices and temptations of mankind."
Grandfather was a "Prussian Royal Master Carriage Builder" with the National Railway. That was his title! Whenever my grandmother told me about him, it was this noble title alone that made me feel in awe of him: These "railway men" were all the same; it was on the occasion of the "quarterly pay" and other suitable occasions, when he went with his old colleagues to the tavern to have a drink! - No wonder that grandmother went to these "dens of vice" and gave them a piece of her mind, and her Wilhelm had to follow her home! But here, in the quiet Gnadenberg, was nothing to fear. She knew all about her Wilhelm. –
She had her little garden, a jewelry box with an ever-changing array of flowers, and under the pergola, the visitors were welcomed, and coffee was drunk. Grandpa took his afternoon nap on a soft, self-built couch. - Oh dear! If we disturbed him with our loud noise while playing games. The wide yard next to her garden was suitable for young and old. At the high carpet beating pole, the older kids practiced their first pull-ups diligently - up and down -the first physical education instructions began. Before I knew it, I was hanging high up, dangling from the pole; the oldest Sikenius boys, Rudolf and Otto, had their fun and let me dangle and scream, "I'm falling," until grandpa woke up from his nap!
On the 1st Christmas day, we were all allowed to come to the grandparents. Grandfather wore his good uniform with red laces and golden buttons to honor the day. How venerable and noble he appeared then, especially in the Christmas tree glow that seemed so huge to me and had many burning candles. And who doesn't remember the delicious enjoyment of the homemade gingerbread and pancakes, some of which would still appear much later from the corner of her kitchen cupboard when now and then an errand to be done - everybody wanted to go to her, and the quarrel among the three heroes, her "heartbeat, sunbeam, and ray of hope," as she called us when we were little - was always huge! She always had something extra for us, and that is when we appeared very well-behaved.
Grandfather was allowed to enjoy the time of his retirement for only a few years. A laryngeal disease gnawed at him and got worse from month to month; he had to suffer badly toward the end. Mother stayed with him a lot. Many nights she left us alone while she kept watch for several hours at his sick bed.
"Good night, dear mother," I can still hear us calling with one voice when she left the apartment late at night. The big key in the lock turned, and she hurried down the stairs. In those times, a "babysitter" was unheard of. We had to be nice and quiet, and well-behaved. - Unfortunately, this usually only lasted for a short time before a "war" began among us brothers. - Or, listen! - suddenly, a strange noise - caused fear and fright that transformed into a 3-voice concerto. Soon enough, it got too much on the nerves of the inhabitants of the house above and below us, and a broomstick started its knocking activity against the ceiling. - That meant: “Be quiet!" – But on the contrary, the shouting and yelling continued with uninhibited force. The criticism and complaints did not stop the following day. And then something happened: the first and last "babysitter" in the history of my childhood entered our apartment. Mother had found someone for us. An older maiden! A freshly made bed was also ready so that "Miss Krause" did not need to stay up all night, so she slept with us peacefully! With that, the disturbing "little night music" of the Ternow brothers found an end.
What followed, however, made mother even more uneasy, no, even instilled terror in her! - We were not allowed to have pets. That was contractually stipulated for us as tenants. But then, behold, one fine morning, Mother makes the beds fresh and what seemed unbelievable becomes a fact of life here, in the bed of Miss Krause! – Look, there the "flea mummy" goes - it was said from the next day on when we met Miss Krause on the other side of the street. She had earned this title rightfully. –
After my grandfather's death, grandma moved into a small attic apartment directly above us. Here she stayed until 1918 - still full of energy, despite her partially paralyzed left arm, which she treated herself. She never wanted to go to a doctor. It turned out that the tight quarters up there in the attic seemed unbearable to her. The urge to be busy and to work was still too strong in her. She needed something to do. She did not ask anybody and did what she thought was right and, with this, caused mother some inconvenience more than once. The natural urge in her for the country side and nature and everything that runs and crawls there, held her interest. Here in her Silesian homeland, this instinct came to full bloom once again. –
There, - a rabbit - it had mysteriously joined our "unauthorized pets". With red eyes! He was well looked after and got plenty to eat. Especially the juicy pieces of corn that were found along the sides of the road. Even grandmother was very interested in this little animal which grew up so fast! and after a few months developed into a splendid specimen. - What happened there one day? I discovered a white woolly nest in a corner of the barn and inside, - four tiny little pink bunnies! - A miracle; inexplicable before my eyes! - How had this happy family come about? - Grandmother was silent - but in her wrinkled face - as always, something was written! She didn't tell us anything, - but that is what told me everything. Grandmother had once again taken the reins firmly into her hands and with this also the management of the rabbit breeding according to her will. Another surprise followed when one day I found a charming little "kid” in her part of the woodshed. And with this, a new task was given to us boys; the task was called "find food for the kid"! Oh dear!
My first school days
In my first year at school in Krauschen with Miss Keil, I soon learned to obey orders and to put the recalcitrant child’s spirit into its ordered limits. "God greets you!” This greeting resounded collectively whenever Miss Keil entered the classroom. The first year of school, which was not preceded by kindergarten, lasted two hours. The first lesson remained assigned to religious education for years. Then followed reading and writing and multiplication tables. This was of course difficult for the little beginner to understand. I learned the truth of the saying: "All beginnings are hard". It took some time until the little, headstrong head was able to switch from playing to short hours of duty and attention. The knapsack with the shiny "leopard skin" was my pride and joy, as well as the slate with the wet sponge and small piece of cloth, and the beautiful pencil box.
Later the reading primer (book) and a calculus book were added. Lead pencil and paper remained foreign objects for the time being and existed only for big children who could already do everything. The slate, with the lines on one side and the many little squares for numbers and arithmetic on the other, remained the basis for the first two years for the written tasks in the classroom, as well as for the daily homework, which had to be done neatly.
Memorization, sayings, a verse from the Protestant hymnal every day, and the beautiful folk songs of our old poets, like so many other things - it was memorized and built up to form a lasting treasure for the rest of life. Order, cleanliness, and punctuality were part of the discipline that was subject to good training. I had to hold out my hands, make sure my fingers and nails were clean, the "slate pen" was sharp, the slate was good and orderly, and sitting straight as a candle, which was not easy for many a little rascal. All this belonged in the first place to a good education.
The first grades were awaited with trepidation. Very soon, after a few months, something new happened - everyone was given their special place to sit. Far back, from right to left in the first row, the children who learned everything well were allowed to sit. How pleased and surprised I was to be one in the first row. Even if I was not one of the very best, there was no danger of slipping into one of the front rows, where those were now sitting who seldom knew a verse by heart when they were supposed to recite something. By Easter the grades were decided. Those who were completely lazy, because they had not learned anything, were not transferred to the next grade and had to remain in 1st grade for another year. Never and never would I have put up with such things.
The First World War
August 14, 1914
For the last weeks we had midsummer weather as it could not have been nicer, interrupted from time to time by a thunderstorm and a heavy downpour that let everything breathe again after the oppressive sultriness. Also today promised to be sunny and hot.
Yes, a sultriness had been lying over everything that was going on on the political horizon for several weeks. Why would I, with my 6 years, care what the people out there talked about and what was in the newspaper. – Running outside, playing in the streets, what did I care about all that gloomy talk.
I was outside, in front of the house, with my friend Gerhard, running around, having fun as usual. We knew everyone who passed by, everybody was greeted politely. - If something happened out of line, i.e. a strange carriage came around the corner, or the gas lamps on the other side were readjusted, I was on the spot, hanging around. This morning, Mr. Pfantz stood on the corner and attached a public announcement to the telegraph pole. Something unusual! Men from the neighborhood came to him and excitedly they discussed "war"; I heard them saying again and again "mobilization". What was the meaning of all this! "General mobilization!" - whatever it meant: it had to be something terrible. I ran home and told mother what I had heard and seen. Mother was momentarily speechless - unbelievable, - should it really be true? No one wanted to believe it.
For me, this excitement among people was something completely new, but in the course of the events, I would soon learn to understand the meaning of "war" in my little head. There was something happening here! The next day it was said that a number of young men would have to report for duty. Among them was the father of my friend Wolfgang in the neighboring house. I often saw him in the big, park-like garden where I loved to romp around. He liked to joke with us; so also the following afternoon: "Come here boys, here are the spurs for my boots, clean them as good as you can!” It was half competition, half game, who would finish first. The next morning, Captain Riedel of the Reserve said goodbye to his loved ones and moved to his regiment. For his children it was to be a farewell forever. –
These were the days of mobilization, August 14, 1914. Although I did not yet understand much of what happened during my childhood, there were still events that took root in the young mind.
Much suffering happened very soon and in short intervals in the following months. There was hardly any family that was spared from horror, suffering and grief entering their home. Here and there, in the close circle of acquaintances, the neighbors, it did not stay away. How many young boys had enthusiastically volunteered: "to fight for the fatherland!". –
Next door lived the widow Hoffmann. She had three boys, all already of conscript age. Mother was a friend of hers. The eldest, her Hermann, was engaged, he fell in the East. The second also died in Russia, and the youngest, they said, was missing. - How much suffering could a widow endure? And so hardly any family was spared. I can still see mother and grandmother sinking to their knees when the shocking news came about uncle Martin. Her youngest, fallen in Russia. –
These were bitter years and too many victims. But God helped to bear the burden throughout all the misery. And mother stood firm in her faith. How often a Christian song resounded on her lips. He gave her the strength to cope with some difficult tasks throughout this hardship and tribulation of life.
But children forget quickly and get used to many things. How carefree were the years of my childhood, filled with play and happiness. All those many things in yard, garden, and close vicinity, that never escaped my curiosity. - The smallest corners behind hedges and fences, nothing remained hidden. However, getting out of and escaping some tricky situations was sometimes connected with fears and misery. - Tragically enough, when climbing over our neighbor's iron fence, the bottom of my pants got caught and half of the “naked one” was exposed to the light of day! No amount of sneaking helped. Mother knew immediately what was going on. And the cane came out from behind the cupboard and demanded its right!
If we three heroes came home late once again, and looked like little robbers, or had done something terrible, whereby next door a window pane shattered into pieces through a badly aimed hard, green apple, something that had already been communicated to Mrs. Ternow in painful clarity by Mrs. Schütz, then our apartment resembled more a lion’s cage before feeding, with all the roaring going on. Helmut got most of it, he gritted his teeth. But until the cane (as the third) consulted my backside, mother's arm was tired and I felt very little; but yelled all the more. - The brown chestnuts that I had collected behind the fence had lost their appeal completely. But it did not take long and something new, more tempting, drove me to another, often "forbidden" place.
Besides the daily tasks and the worry about the education for the three of us, mother sewed every piece I wore. Whether trousers, shirt, or jacket, or a warm coat for the winter, she knew how to make something new for us from an old piece. She could use every piece of clothing from relatives or good friends whose children had grown out of a piece, to make something that I could still wear. She even knew how to sew her blouses and dresses skillfully and tastefully. She had learned to be a milliner in her young years, and understood how to skillfully design a new beret with veil or a hat of the "new fashion". Cleanliness and being dressed decently was a matter of course. Never would she let me walk around with something torn or frayed with holes. That was only true for a family that we considered slovenly and whose children I was not allowed to associate with.
She knew how to take full advantage of the long winter evenings. In front of the window stood the sewing machine and next to the busy spinning wheel the kerosene lamp, the only source of light for the living room. It had to be sufficient so that we children still had enough light to rummage around with our toys and do schoolwork. - The oil, so scarcely allocated, was never enough. There was indeed an energy crisis during the First World War.
On her last visit to Berlin, where she took me for the first time, Mother had discovered a cute little economy lamp, it was available in different colors and looked like a candle. She became a sales representative for this lamp. Everyone liked to buy them in our town. "How much more economical could a light burn!" It hardly used any oil. Even though mother did not make much money from this sale, it helped to earn a few Mark here and there on the side.
After all, how far could the 60 Mark monthly pension she received from father's company go? It was all about managing the money and being careful with every penny. And even from this little money she was able to put something aside from time to time, for a time when she might need it even more. Later, I realized that this was how she and grandmother were able to buy the little house in Krauschen #36 for 8,000 Mark from the master butcher Lange. It was our great luck, as it happened just before the insidious inflation turned almost all pensioners into beggars or poor millionaires.
Mother was versatile in all her activities. Was it the constant pressure, the concern of our upbringing, -she always found something, some activity that helped her to get through these difficult times. Her joyful disposition seldom left her, only when she was getting really serious with me. –
As Christmas approached, she often had many things to do to make the most of every minute. The little dolls for which she crocheted charming little dresses in all variations and costumes - whether master baker or chimney sweeper or an original bridal couple, which she never wanted to give away. The glass cabinet had filled up. And the people in our town came and placed new orders every year. She also understood the technique of basket weaving in all interesting forms; she used a very fine pipe for this purpose, which I later found only in similar works of the Indians in the north. They were works of art. So was the silk embroidery, for which she developed her own patterns in the most harmonious colors. Tablecloths were edged with charming edges and with that she decorated the living room table, often every week with the latest project that she had finished.
Rarely was mother at any gatherings in the circle of friends or at home, at the "coffee-round chit-chat", without some needlework. Or when she read a story to us before going to bed, about the old German heroic sagas I loved, while at the same time the crochet or knitting needle slid busily between her skinny fingers - in a well-rehearsed rhythm, rarely looking at it. This is how the long black stockings were created for us children. She would hardly ever have thought of picking out such garments in a store.
Mother loved flowers more than anything, she was delighted with every "forest and meadow bouquet" I brought her from somewhere. The first fragrant lilac from behind the fence of Sikenius' garden where Grandmother lived, that reached far across the fence and into the street. The white daisies, shining like stars, infallibly decorated her room at the time of blossoming. Then came the autumn, when the flowering heath with its heady scent had enchanted wide areas and the hillsides of the "Fuchsberg" with a colorful carpet; we could not resist to decorate her home also with this splendor. Mother knew how to keep the blossoms for a long time; until spring a bouquet stood on the long console as an adornment for our home. She called the heath "Erika".
I knew every corner of our immediate surroundings, every body of water; the clay ponds where golden salamanders tempted to be caught. Or the cemetery - such a quiet place - where we often saw fire salamanders scampering among the ivy next to the all too fast lizards. The catching remained a mystery to me at first. I thought I was going to catch them. I was surprised when I only held a fidgeting tail in my hand. - How did that happen? - A tailless lizard was only half a lizard. There had to be other methods, and soon I discovered where the tailless little animal had fled to, it had found a safe sleeping corner: under the gravestone! –
The cemetery was well ordered according to the old customs and traditions. Plain and simple, the gravestones lay flat here in long rows. Dates that went back to the beginning of the 18th century, underneath which hid what I wanted to catch. Some of the stones had already sunk deep. – Yes, if only we were able to lift one or the other a little. Then I only needed to grab! Indeed, it succeeded! - That was a life at home, all our pets in a self-built terrarium scurried back and forth to my joy! I knew exactly how many of the green and gray little "crocodiles" we had. Wasn't there one missing after our last count? And the next day one was missing again! There were only 5 instead of 7, even under the stones - no discovery. There! after a long search, a week later, mother found a dried up lizard in the corner under the cupboard. - Oh dear! "Immediately you let all the animals go!" was the last sentence of the court: "And don't ever bring anything like that into my apartment again!” –
We couldn't help it. Soon after, Helmut had abducted a long blindworm from the forest. This to our mother's greatest horror: "A snake! Don't let me see you with it here!". The pile of sand around the yard was also not exactly a suitable place to catch flies and mosquitoes, so necessary for the livelihood of the blindworm. The blindworm was admired by young and old. But it missed its hiding places, a good hiding place. It searched for it and found it rather quickly in one of the unguarded moments, more quickly that I would have suspected. It had already disappeared into a narrow, inconspicuous crevice in the brick wall! "Alarm!" Every boy from the house jumped to the spot to see what to do now. In vain! No effort helped; we had to watch helplessly as it slowly crept into the unknown, into the dark wall. Wherever it stayed in the end, we never saw it again.
The latest victim, a small squirrel, did not stand up to mother's expert opinion either. I had caught it in the woods. The living room was no place for such a lively little animal. "Back to the forest where you found it!" she said. Disappointed, I brought it to its old home, where it disappeared in its newfound freedom in the next treetop. –
Since Helmut was far ahead of me in many of his arts, crafts, and manual skills, my admiration was considerable. I gladly helped him with his latest "inventions". - This time, a warship was under construction and promised to be very big. There it stood, half finished, almost a meter long. A lot still had to happen before the "launch on the high seas". Wood, wire, sheet metal, all imaginable material that could be found had assumed the convincing seaworthiness of an armored cruiser.
I helped him a lot with gluing, holding, and "picking up"; all the things that the older brother takes for granted from the younger one. As I said, he already knew how to command like a captain on his ship. Finally, the day came for the great event, the launch, the great voyage, that was to take place in "Schubert's Pond". Even the curious neighborhood boys had gathered and wanted to experience the miracle. Everybody wanted to help carry. 4 men were chosen, the rest ran after them; and so, everybody marched down the oak alley to the pond. - What a proud sight. - Arriving at a favorable spot on the shore, the highlight of the day was to be celebrated. - Commandos resounded: Attention! Careful! Let go! Exciting breath-holding! - It glides proudly through the water. Hurrah! everybody screams. ---- But there! What is happening? It slightly tilts to the side - how can that be? No - it sinks! - "Get it back!". Everybody helped who could help in this catastrophe. Who would have guessed that this maiden voyage would end so abruptly? –
Back to the shipyard. Where was the mistake? A hole. Where did the water come through the cracks? Here it was time to think. "Something was not right." - A coat of paint was missing. Maybe a coat of tar, as the roofers use to seal the roof when it rains through. That was it! Once again, we were lucky. Was there not a roofer at work nearby? The whole area smelled of it! "Look outside and look around!” As a good scout I brought the news: Close to the corner of Treuden's house there is a tar barrel, full of a bubbling black mass. Very good! But how could we get some? It had to be done quickly and unnoticed. And so a way was found! –
A visitor was with us, the cousin from Berlin! We Ternow boys were all too well known, in case... - Eberhard was still a stranger in town, who would know him! Helmut gives short instructions: "With a tin can there out of the garbage can in hand - here you have it, - you quickly walk past the barrel, scoop a good measure, and come back, running as fast as you can. No one will see you, much less notice anything.” Good-naturedly Eberhard does what is asked of him. Faster than expected he is back and delivers his black goods. Helmut sees his wish fulfilled, is happy, because now we can start again and make sure it will be sea proof.
Eberhard's fingers were no longer so clean, and his jacket and pants and face were covered with a "grey cloud”. - Concerns? - Oh no, there are means and ways to clean such things we thought. The cloud on cousin Eberhard's face disappeared, and everyone was busy with brushes and the sticky tar. The work was boldly heading for completion. But what is suddenly all the commotion down in the yard; the loud voices in the hallway and corridor? - Who stands there suddenly in front of the shed: Do I hear and see right? "Here you see, Mrs. Ternow, the black trace is leading here." From the road to the step, along the long hallway, and to the ship! -What I overheard here was terrible. "Who could have done this?" - "Eberhard, of course!" - "How will the white sandstone corridor ever be clean again?" - For me and my big brother, the desire to continue painting and building was suddenly gone. - No wonder, the ship then remained in the "dry harbor" as an unfinished creation.
Other problems, lighter ones, that flew in the air, were tested and built from now on. We went over to the aircraft construction of the air fleet. Were not Immelmann, Bölke, and von Richthofen from the air battles of the First World War our heroes and idols? Oh, what models we built: a Rumpler Taube, Fokker, monoplane, biplane. Each part, fuselage or wing, was made from bamboo sticks and the propeller was carved from wood with a pocket knife. The age of plastic was not to begin until 50 years later.
And so the first models were created, which for a long time, not exactly to mother's delight, hung on the ceiling as dust catchers. - No, not only that, they could also really fly, albeit only in gliding flight. Helmut released them from the uppermost attic window and I had to catch them in the yard and bring them back up - 3 flights of stairs. – What luck when the delicate frame was not damaged, or even broke off a piece whenever they landed. If the same happened, I was of course to blame; it was said "You don't pay attention and you can't even catch! You are too stupid." – Well, the big brother always knew better.
The war took its course and its victims. A strict rationing of all nutritionally important things had begun, starting from the first years on. Allocation stamps were issued to each family. Among these, the bread stamps were the most important. Although, one cannot live on bread alone! It didn't help, we were used to it, and the daily bread was never enough in those time. And mother really did not know how to feed three hungry "little men". "Mother I am hungry"! How many times a day the call resounded. The good bread, it was never enough for everybody. It meant something completely new for us boys. What did I understand about wartime and rationing, and it was the most difficult thing to get used to. But no matter how it was, everyone got the same amount with their ration. The bread stamps changed color every month, so there could be no mistakes. Failure to use them meant forfeiting the goods. That was out of the question with us Ternows. Whatever we received was anyways not enough. - Meat was only once a week at most, and the little bit of butter - hardly worth the trouble.
Where was the strength and energy to come from? Mother really did not know what to do anymore. In this hopeless situation one of us had a "brilliant idea". Give each of us his allotted bread of 3 pounds a week and let each of us make arrangements ourselves. "That was very easily said and very difficult to do". And so it happened that when the new week started, 3 boys sat there and thought about where was a good place, or even better, a good hiding place, to keep the bread from other hungry bread-eaters.
In a dark corner I believed my precious goods to be safe. But soon I noticed that it disappeared faster than I suspected. Something was not right here. What was going on here? On the last day of the week I found only a small edge. Which "bread thief" had been working here secretly? Mice? No, there was no trace of them here. What then? How was that possible, when I carefully measured every day? What was I going to do? Until mother searched for the truth and exposed the culprit. - Justice must be done. - Behold, the big one explained to the small one in his "logical way": "Little people need less bread," - and in doing so had helped a great deal to reach our goal prematurely in this "seven-day eating competition”. - Who was the winner here? - Mother was faced with the new and serious task of dividing the food rations.
On one of the following days, she found an old, long expired white bread stamp in the deep recess of a kitchen drawer. How was that possible? Unbelievable! How could one forget a precious bread stamp like that? Weren't the yellow ones valid for this week? Mother was so very careful with everything. After all, there was a state of emergency here. Was it still possible to save a 3-pound bread? Was it a sin if we colored the bread stamp yellow? I had an box with watercolors, maybe that was the right thing to do. Let's give it a try. - And behold, mother's artistic hand performed a masterpiece! Only a slight difference in color, that is, on close inspection only, when you knew it. But the date? Who would look at that! Yellow was the color.
Of course, I, the smallest, was sent to the baker Kobelt and stood with a beating heart in front of Miss Kobelt. "A bread please." As usual, the stamp and the money at hand. - Never did I run out of a store faster with a bread under my arm. - What luck! At home the joy was great and the hungry wolf was once again denied entry through our door.
The hardship of the war years soon opened my eyes and taught me many things that helped me get through the daily difficulties of life. We soon realized that in the countryside we had many things better than the city dwellers. Here, there were fields around where the fruits and ears of grain ripened. When the harvest came, we were not the only ones to pick up the remains; there was still a lot that was left behind and it did not have to wait long for us.
With many a full sack of yellow wheat ears I went home tired in evening, and later it was threshed out. Grandmother still had an antique "flail," just like the ones the farmers used to some extent before the threshing machine started to move from one small farmer to another. How often the three- or four-note sound could be heard from the threshing floor of the neighboring farmers on cold winter days. I also wanted to learn how to handle granny's flail. It remained an art that I never mastered. –
Nevertheless, the wheat grains were threshed and if it was a lot, we exchanged them for flour in the nearest neighboring village. But how much went through the coffee mill every day and came the next morning as "wheat porridge" for breakfast on the table. What could be healthier!
The summer and fall vacations were used diligently. There was little "idleness," for that was the beginning of all vice. Mother had imprinted this on me. - What did it mean? I could not really understand what our game had to do with idleness. - "Where is the firewood! Now you can also saw. You are big enough now. There is so much firewood in the forest there, look for dry one. Take the cart and go." And so we ran off with our tall, old-fashioned pram in which mother had taken us all for a ride at some point. Nobody could see or find us in the forest. So it was fine with us - to combine work and play in cheerfulness. When we came home, hungry and exhausted at noon, I can still hear grandma's rough voice saying: "What is this? You only have a crow's nest on your cart! Go into the forest again with your stroller!" And mother agreed with her despite our complaints.
Wasn't the most beautiful game in summer, when the sun disappeared behind the roofs and it began to dawn? We called the game robbers and gendarme, where one party had to track down and "arrest" the other. Next door was the "institution’s garden", a garden park with tall fir tree hedges and lots of flowering shrubs. The high fence meant no obstacle for us, we always went over, behind the hedges, under the dense bushes, or up a tree. Yes, this silver fir with the full branches that stretched out far down - here I found my favorite hiding place, and like a squirrel I went up to the already swaying top. Was I safe from my pursuers? Not for long. I heard crackling, something moving in the lower branches. Who could that be? It became darker and even grayer between the thick needle branches. Who had discovered me there and followed me up to this height? Was there a safe escape from here? Probably not. Close below me I saw my pursuer climbing closer to me.
Now or never – this was a crucial moment in our game. Here, the "gendarme" was already sitting too close on the heels of the "robber", too close - and I sat there, frozen, holding my breath. But then, let's go! And with a bold leap to the outermost branches, I went down again in increasing speed from branch to branch. - No, my pursuer, the gendarme, did not dare to follow me on the short-cut path this time. He chose the climbing way down, while I had long since found a new hiding place.
One of us was responsible for the apartment key and of course had it in his trouser pocket, the only place where this annoying, huge monster could be carried. It was "high time" to leave before it got too dark. – But look, someone stood there and reached from one pocket to another; the key had disappeared and our search remained a futile act! Oh dear! We were supposed to be back in time and this had been our only key and mother had said that she would be a bit late today. She had left the key with Helmut this time. What was going to happen now? We hardly dared to go home without the key. The door was locked and mother not yet in sight. Soon she found her 3 whining boys, dirty and in resin smeared pants. Yes, the lamentation should become even bigger as soon as we got behind the locked door! The blacksmith was called, opened it artfully with a lock pick and then it happened! The punishment! This time I marched into my bed hungry with an empty stomach.
There was so much to do during the fall holidays. The stubble fields were bare, the forest not too far away, there was a lot of dry wood lying around and, as so often, it was said: "You could help prepare for winter, take your cart and do not make us tell you again". In the undergrowth, certainly there were many a scrawny tree, just a little difficult to fell and load without an axe. Was it allowed? No! Nevertheless, we took them with us and could reach our goal faster, and by the way, grandmother would not call this load a "crow's nest" again!
Once again the Ternow boys were busy at work. One cut down dry young trees, the other carried, the third packed the new ladder wagon full. There! Oh the fright! Who stands there before us all of a sudden and takes us by the scruff of the neck? We drop everything. A forester! In green uniform and with a rifle! Mr. Obendorfer, the owner; where did he suddenly come from? - Escape - run - everything was in vain. With a thundering voice and with a dark look on his face: "What are you doing here, who allowed you to do this in my forest?" A pitiful stutter was the answer. I was rooted to the spot as if spellbound! - "Come here! Give me that rope!" "Yes" was the answer. - "I will hang you, the three of you. Up there on the next tree", I heard him raving on. Oh, what torture! A pause followed, which seemed like an eternity. - Now who would be the first to hang there on a rope? - He let us go, but promised to hang us up next time. - The load of wood from his forest, that was to be the last one for now. –
The seriousness of life and the game, it was often interchangeable and so the beautiful vacation season passed, where many things, often seemingly impossible, had happened. –
Our birthdays were especially celebrated. I was born on February 19 and Johannes on February 20; 2 years and 1 day apart. There were no great gifts to spoil us; we were happy about the smallest things that I discovered in the early morning hours, usually with still sleepy eyes, on the birthday table with a burning candle. The most beautiful thing was a delicious cake that mother had conjured up the day before. Even if the food rations were so scarce, she understood, and performed a miracle. Not just one, but two of them, and the whole room smelled of these miracles.
She had put a lot of effort into finding the means for this. Many a long way was connected with it. Usually on Fridays, she went on her way and took me by the hand. This time to Frauenvorwerk, a small farming settlement where she hoped to get something there. 1 pound of butter, a few eggs, or some curd cheese. – Mrs. Meier had promised her to have something for her the next time. - The way was long, 2 hours back and forth on a lonely country road, often cold and windy, it was not a nice walk. – Mrs. Meier had long forgotten what she had promised mother last Friday. Mother was not the only one who came, and she could not offer the farmer's wife anything extra. There, again a futile knock on the door. - Maybe she would have better luck at the farm next door! - The chain dog barked even before we entered the yard. The farmer's wife, curious, came out of the cow barn and mother expressed her modest wish. At least a few eggs - "No, the chicken’s a---- are frozen shut" was the answer in her flat dialect. Mother was dumbfounded. How ugly people could be. I saw the tears in her eyes; to have to go on such errands to provide for daily food made her heart ache - no wonder after such an answer.
Grandmother acted in her own way however she saw fit. Formerly, she had had rabbits in her little house, and now she had them here in our house; those guys grew and now and then Elfriede got a fat roast. She did not care about the house rules and did what she thought was right. The kid was already a growing goat with horns, and there were a few chickens as well! Where was this going to lead! Everybody had to look out for themselves in this time of need.
Elfriede was not very enthusiastic about all the animals; she had grown up in the big city without any such experience - except the short time in Zemitz. Here she was a stranger in this field. It was a necessity that at least her boys should learn about it, or at least that the interest was awakened in them. So it was said! Everyone was assigned a task under her regiment. In Gnadenberg #16 there was no one else but the landlord who owned pets. Grandmother considered herself equally entitled. From time to time her 3 chickens made their morning walk across the yard - and what did not fail to happen? - friendly relations with the neighboring stable, where things were also lively, were established. - "What was that?" Grandmother excitedly reported, "I am missing an egg in the henhouse!” Great excitement! How did she know that she was missing one? Well, she "examined" her chickens every morning and knew exactly what each chicken was supposed to do. This mystery had to be solved. Only in a strange nest could the egg have been laid, - in the stable of the neighbor, our landlord? Was that possible?
In the meantime, many a dark cloud had risen on the horizon. One could literally feel a thunderstorm in this atmosphere. Grandmother knocked politely on the door of the landlord - opposite us - such a case demanded clarification! - One word led to another, lightning struck! Where did the egg in his hand suddenly come from? That remained unexplained to me. "Here is your egg," he shouted, and then, with a bang and crash against our door! It slowly, sadly ran down onto our doormat. - Yes, now I got it, it was war - war on all fronts – after all, an egg was an egg! We children got over such excitement faster, but with mom and grandma it remained a topic of conversation for a long time. The chickens wandered one by one into the soup pot. –
As everything in life leads to something good in the end, this incident was the reason, and the last reason, that we moved to the cottage in Groß Krauschen #36 soon after. Both villages bordered closely on each other. The Gnadenberg church tower greeted us also in Groß Krauschen, and the harmonious chime of the bells at every hour made me often sit up and take notice; it was a new home and yet the same home as before.
The Moravian Church had a beneficial influence on us - father and mother had belonged to a free Christian community*4 in Berlin. We children were not baptized, but we were brought up in the faith of our parents. Mother had found new Christian friends in Gnadenberg and thus the right connection to people in the community with whom to socialize. She taught in the Sunday school where she took me from an early age and later to the church service and the singing lessons where I was “active” on the bellows of the organ in the small hall from time to time. Oh, how many new verses and songs and sayings from the Bible I learned by heart, and the devotional booklet was taken to hand daily.
Later, when I was 14 years old, Mother decided to become a member of the Church of the Moravian Brethren. We had to prepare ourselves for this. The Council of Elders and Pastor Grunewald took it very serious, it was all according to the Elder’s custom. Our past was thoroughly examined. We believed ourselves to be pure! Mrs. Ternow was asked once more to talk to Pastor Grunewald to "clarify things"! "Mrs. Ternow, if you and your children want to become members, then the "stealing of food" by your children must stop!”
This was an unexpected blow for our dear mother, who took everything so seriously, and I would not forget it so quickly either. - "Stealing food?" - Every now and then we had to take care of grandmother's kid and rabbits for food. - But the juicy "corn sticks" could not always be found in close proximity. Also the railroad embankment and the edges of fields could not offer us what looked so tempting on a green clover or rape field. Johannes and I made worried faces when mother interrogated us in detail to get a full understanding of this case. - Yes, I remember, once we could not resist the temptation, - although, nobody had caught the two of us, - and yet, the sun brought it to daylight! Had we managed to get onto the field of Brother Hübner? -
We survived this terrible test and were accepted as members of the Moravian Church in Gnadenberg. But before that we were baptized and thus a new blessed stage in my life began.
Krauschen
Autumn 1918
The terrible war raged for over four years. Those were the last tragic convulsions of a lost battle. Hopelessly the people wandered around; how much longer could a nation endure this? Hardly that there was anything left to buy; the economy exploited to the last. Those who found refuge in the countryside under these conditions and could be sure to stand on their own land, could consider themselves lucky. The money began to lose its value. –
What should become of us? We could not go on living for rent in Gnadenberg. And so, mother and grandmother thought long and carefully to find a better solution. Yes, and God made it so that what they were looking for was found! A small house with a large garden in the next village was for sale. And so it finally came about that mother and we moved to Groß Krauschen #36 in the autumn of 1918. The house was situated in the middle of wide fields and green meadows. A large garden with many trees was something special. For the first time we had our own property. Grandma brought with her her growing goat, the chickens, and the rabbits. Now she could do whatever she wanted, without any obstacles. And I felt happy in this free, boundless environment.
How mother and grandmother found the means to finance the house remained a miracle for me. How had she managed the high down payment and mortgage? 8000 Mark was a considerable sum at the time. Their thrifty economy, their diligence and perseverance in everything they did brought us blessings. Yes, their faith and trust in God and Christ, and His guidance formed the basis of their whole life.
We now lived on our own land. - A country life. -And we could do whatever we wanted and act as we pleased, completely unhindered. For me, this life in freedom, in nature, had a special kind of allure and was no comparison with that of my cousins from the big city, who now visited us every year during the vacation season. Uncle Willi and Aunt Klara became regular guests, and they felt comfortable with us.
Uncle Willi always had his wallet full of "travel food stamps". Oh, how much this benefited us in these times where everything was still so scarce. What was his saying: "He who still has ham and bread will never go hungry to bed!” The former was almost unknown, the rarest delicacy. –
Uncle loved the Silesian forests and every day he went for his walks and brought back baskets full of edible mushrooms. I often accompanied him on these walks and learned to distinguish the good ones from the bad. Those were rare things that we sometimes discovered and tracked down in the forest. Who was that who had settled deep in the forest? Two run-down fellows, from the looks of it two escaped Russian prisoners of war. What was there to do? They were squatting by a fire where they had spent the night. Were they armed? We did not know. "Hands up!" yelled Uncle and aimed his upside-down tobacco pipe at the two escaped prisoners. And behold, they followed obediently in fear and terror. - They had escaped from a labor camp and understandably wanted to return to their homeland in Russia. –
Uncle led them to the nearest authorities, the mayor. The outcome could have been different. We became more careful with our forays into the woods, but brought home many a basket of good mushrooms. I even sold the once that were left over, often to the kitchen of the girls' boarding school in Gnadenberg, where the cook was always happy to see me with them. –
Grandma also felt comfortable in her new surroundings. She had a nice apartment, no comparison to the narrow attic. Below her was the stable with a growing family of goats, and in front of the house a garden where she could do whatever she wanted. Even her chickens had free rein. They loved to walk on the freshly sown beds where most of the worms were to be found under the dung. But they dutifully returned to their henhouse when an egg was due! They did not need to be "examined" anymore before their outing as it used to be the case.
Everybody had more freedom. It was a life as grandma needed it and she enjoyed it for many more years, despite her paralyzed arm. The garden gave us something to feed ourselves, something so valuable after the war, and helped us through the miserable time.
I tried to do my part and help wherever I was needed, depending on the season. Outside, in the fields after the harvest time, collecting wheat ears, or digging up the beds in the garden before planting, and picking the various fruits in autumn, or chopping the wood which, to mother's sorrow, could never be split small enough for the stove with an iron plate and the two open rings on which she prepared everything. - Sometimes the work never stopped. - No wonder then that Sigfried disappeared quickly behind the house on one of the cherry trees. The beautiful Morello cherries were a bit too tempting, who could resist!
The Linden Tree
In our garden, close to the wayside, there was a tall linden tree. There was not a more beautiful one anywhere close to my home. I was proud that such a wonderful old tree stood in our garden; clearly recognizable from far away – what splendor. Here I was at home now, there stood my tree, the trunk was strong for its age - perhaps already somewhat hollow; but I could easily try out my climbing skills on it. So I sat up there for many an hour, singing and whistling, various songs that could be heard far away. More than one neighbor I knew came by and had to think hard what funny bird it was that was sitting up there.
Below me, grandmother had her garden, her territory. She spoke of the sun, too much shade, and too much energy that my friend took from this dark earth for himself. For me, the young lad, this was 'incomprehensible' what she said about my friend here. - But soon I would understand the deeper meaning that was hidden in her word. - She saw things from below, but I only saw them from above, and that explained everything. Unfortunately, I loved my linden tree but grandma did not! "The tree must go!" – that was her final word. –
There came a day when my happiness almost disappeared - before the sun sank, there was no tree left! Crashing in the fall it was, a last tremor, and then it was gone, the beauty and the once so blooming life. With tears running down my face. Oh you, my old friend. No, I will never forget you.
But, as it is in life, everything has two sides, even the linden tree that I missed so much. It provided us with precious heating material in winter for a long time to come. I no longer needed to go to the forest to collect wood. And in spring, new life sprouted from our garden where the linden tree once stood. There was not a single berry bush missing in our garden, and with time they all carried fruits plentifully, and not to forget the strawberries that I so liked to eat and that finally now could get enough sun. A "reconciliation" came soon and grandma could plant her garden in spring with double joy. She already felt satisfied when I took over the digging and dividing of the beds.
On one side was a row of sour cherry trees, just the way I loved them, what a treat! And at the back of the garden there were all kinds of apple, plum, and pear trees. We had plenty of everything and it lasted well beyond winter. We were especially fond of one particular apple tree. Striking because of its crooked and sloping trunk, as if it wanted to fall, but strong and firmly rooted. It soon became a popular gymnastics and climbing equipment. Who was the first to succeed in running up there, balancing without slipping? That was our preferred game. Johann is next. But what do I see!? The next moment he is on the ground, screaming and writhing in pain. His left arm and joint completely dislocated and sticking out in the opposite direction. At that moment I feel like screaming myself. He bends it back, terrible, - hardly possible, all tendons distorted! Only a doctor could help here and wrap the lame arm into a firm bandage. Who was there to tame us boys, when we were completely left to our own devices and got caught up in such daredevilry and trouble? The dear mother had to carry a heavy burden. But the father was missing in such moments. –
The long years of war had left visible traces of destruction and moral decay. Burglaries and theft were the order of the day. Things were bad in the cities. An economic war began and the motto was: "To be or not to be". The "hoarders and traffickers" - a new class, stepped onto the scene and flooded the countryside. Landowners and farmers had reached a special status in these years. Here there were "extras", here there was still something to be gotten. And so the "city dwellers" moved like swarms of bees across the villages. The "peddlers and traffickers" - for many, the instinct of self-preservation was an unwritten rule of that time. What was not safely behind bars and locked up - disappeared. - We, too, in our rural area were not to be spared. -
Again, a fat pig had been stolen from a farmer’s stable overnight and slaughtered behind the barn, in the middle of a cornfield, where the pitiful remains were still lying around. On another farm, the neighbor found the rabbit hutch empty one morning, and next door, the vegetable garden was half harvested. - A "pig break-in with slaughter" in our small town was no longer a rarity after all. – And Uncle Willi reported in his last letter that all his chickens disappeared from the henhouse overnight without a trace – even he, the director of the Neukölln Municipal Hospital. – But no, not without a trace! – the heads were still lying around. There were suspects, but the criminal investigation department did not pursue the case any further. No wonder, the police was overloaded with similar cases and burglaries. –
How should Uncle Willi’s loss be replaced? Mom and Grandma knew advice: "Boy, you are going to visit Uncle Willi next week during the Pentecost holidays and take 4 chickens with you!” Grandma had a mother hen that promised to provide us very soon with her offspring, a flock of chicks. –
"Willi will surely be very happy when he gets the 4 chickens and finds his fresh egg at the table every morning.” - This time I had my doubts, which was never the case otherwise. When it came to a visit to Berlin, I was always "all for it". - Three cousins with whom I was allowed to romp around and cause some newly discovered mischief in the underground corridors of the hospital. An open cellar window was always found to slip in and to mystify the guard at the front. –
This time though, the journey was to be in the company of the "clucking chicken quartet". I was really ashamed to be stuck with such luggage in a fully occupied "coupé" for 5 hours. Cousin Eberhard came to the rescue at the station and took over the clucking chickens. In any case, the surprise and joy were great, and my inner shame also passed. –
I often heard Grandma say: "Children, we live in a time full of sinfulness and badness as the world has never experienced before". She had her life almost behind her and had experienced hard times and many difficult things. I could really understand her cautiousness. She took great care of what was hers. Once in a while something went missing, even in her living room; she could become very suspicious, but never admitted it. But everything was found again. Even her glasses, this valuable piece. If she misplaced them and could not find them, I helped her gladly. How long had she been searching for them again! - "My boy, help me!" One look was enough, she had pushed them back, high above her silver, graying hair – as was her habit. –
In this case she could not suspect anyone; often, her suspicions seemed a bit strange to us. Even more so when she thought something was missing from her stable again; a good portion of coal from the last allocated hundredweight – surely no more than half could have been used so far! –
The Hamann family
We had a nice young couple as tenants in the first floor apartment. A sunny little room and bedroom, it was nothing special, but in this housing shortage, everyone was happy to have a roof over their heads. For mother it was a small additional income and, as I said, also a safe feeling in these bad times to know a man in the house.
Mr. Hamann was, as we were told, working as a real estate agent with his brother. They had their office in Bunzlau. They seemed to earn well and lived far above the average of a normal standard of living, something that could be easily noticed here and there. His job found him on the road a lot, and he often used the night or early morning train to reach the next city in time. Mrs. Hamann came to mother from time to time to borrow the alarm clock, because her husband had to leave "on time".
If the young woman was short of something, mother helped her out with small favors. The next time around, Mrs. Hamann would come upstairs and give mother a good piece of meat, a roast, which our pan first had to get used to. "Mrs. Ternow, my father slaughtered "illegally" this week, and we have plenty, "you understand...". And with that she left mother with a juicy piece of pork in her hand and scurried down the stairs. – Of course, many things still had to be handed over by the farmers after the end of the war; the government controls had not yet been lifted, and the controlled economy still prevailed. So the farmers knew how to help themselves. Even though the most unbelievable things happened, eventually, order should be restored to the economy again.
Then, one day, we heard the shocking news that our local policeman was shot the previous night while performing his duties, at a place where probably a break-in into a stable was planned. The owner had been lying in wait early that night. A cunning accomplice was suspected. Was it a misunderstanding? One of them wanted to beat the other in capturing the alleged burglar. – There – a strange noise at the entrance of the stable door, quiet footsteps. - A shot is fired. - Great excitement! These were the later statements. Every trace of a burglar was missing. The owner had irresponsibly, in his excitement, fatally hit the constable. –
Hardly a week went by and again I heard that a new burglary had been committed. Our neighbor, full of excitement, told our mother the latest news: "At the post office, a state institution, a great burglary has happened. Cash register, stamps, and other valuables had been stolen." This had gone too far! This, in the small, peaceful Gnadenberg!? There was a great commotion. – But then everything calmed down again and we heard of no new sensation and no more nightly hooliganism. The last case had brought the state police on the spot, and very soon they were on the trail of the cunning criminals. Suspicions, investigations, and testimonies, word got around, but no arrest of those who caused this great mischief was made.
Our small house was a little outside of town; part of a group of 4 buildings in the middle of meadows and fields. We found it wonderful and led a peaceful existence with childlike play and activities. Thus, I did not consider some events particularly important and I quickly forgot them.
Mother came upstairs from the garden and told us excitedly about 2 gentlemen who were just there and who had asked about our tenants downstairs. The young Mrs. Hamann was usually at home in the morning, this time though apparently not; she could not be reach and they could not talk to her. –
I usually ran up and down the stairs dozens of times and was mostly outside in my free time. I did not care much about what was going on in the dark hallway below. That day, something strange, something rare, even mysterious, caught my attention. The door to the Hamann family's apartment: the lock was taped shut, sealed. What was the meaning of this? - I looked at it in disbelief! In the afternoon, two gentlemen came again and opened the door and examined the apartment. What was that supposed to mean? What was going on here? Was anyone suspected? What for? –
The mysterious puzzle was soon to be solved; a frightening picture. Some questions had been asked of mother as well. Something was soon confirmed. A suspicion we never ever thought possible. – Mrs. Hamann had escaped through the window that morning and disappeared. Mother could only tell what she knew and that was that there was not a single bad thing to be said about the Hamann family. But "alarm clock, and nightly rides, and now and then a juicy piece of pork", and suddenly even the justified suspicion of our grandma about the absence of the coals in the stable, as well as many an inconspicuous conversation found explanations and completed the picture. - "Something like that had lived in our house for over a year?" Grandma and mother could not believe it.
Had a part of our house been used as a den of robbers? Many burglaries could be proven to have been committed by the "Hamann Brothers". The last one had brought them down. After a short time in custody, they were soon moved to safer quarters. And so the verdict sounded: "Guilty!". The transfer to the closest state penitentiary marked the end of this gang and the nightly raids that had started from our peaceful home.
A Night Watchman from house to house!
Was it any wonder that the locals longed for security and order after all this? Everyone feared for their possessions but what was the solution? - Self-help was the only solution to put an end to these nightly activities and burglaries. And so the local council decided that every resident had to contribute to this. That, according to old customs, a night watchman was to carefully watch the streets at night. I knew little of this new local regulation that was passed from house to house in a letter that had been affixed to a wooden trowel. –
And so, what was this that I found one day in our living room? In a corner next to the open window there was an interesting spear with a horn next to it. "Wonderful!", that had to be tried out. Once, twice, three times a strong blow from full lungs. Great, what a full tone through the open window. But no, wasn't that the signal for the volunteer fire department to gather when a fire breaks out? Already my mother is standing in front of me: "Boy, what are you doing?" and next door, in the neighboring house, the doors burst open. Where is the fire? - Not a second time did this signal sound through our window! – Who of us was to be the night watchman in the coming nights? One of us boys, or mother, or grandmother? - The week went by. The spear and the horn in the corner remained untouched, silent, only to finally move to another house, to the next "guard".
When the food supply finally improved and we no longer depended on goat breeding for milk and butter, one animal after another was slaughtered. Mr. Adler, our neighbor, took care of the slaughtering. And since he could not always manage it alone, I was once called to help him. - Oh how I disliked this; the poor animal that Johannes had milked so often. I had to "hold it". While mother locked all windows tightly. - There was plenty of meat and it was kept in big stone pots for the daily needs. - "Is there goat meat again today?" it sounded through our house. Very soon it became too much of a good thing, who could stand having so much goat meat?
On the pond not far away from us, there was a small, densely overgrown island that had been arousing my curiosity for some time. What did it look like there, how could one get across to it? I had to know. Through the reeds, wading through the water, not too deep. But there was a place where it went down - splash - and I quickly retreated, with wet clothes. Wasn't there a better solution to reach this interesting spot that was so wonderfully made for our games? A boat! - Where should we get that? - A raft, that was already easier. There were those narrow wooden connection planks that were used as a bridge over a nearby stream. Weren’t those just made for that? Of course, they were! A walkway over the stream would be easy to remove. Hurrah! We had our raft and headed to the mysterious island world, which we declared to be ours from that day on.
"Wigwams" (teepees) were built from leaves and branches. We loved to pretend being Sioux Indians and everyone got a warrior name. Even a fire was built and lit. Here we stayed and dreamed of the Indian heroes in North America of whom we read with excitement, of the fights with the white men, the wild hunts for the buffalo, the peace pipe, and smoke signals. –
In fact, - "smoke signals" - they became visible the next time we approached the island on the raft! What had happened? Had other "Indians" occupied our empire? I could not believe my eyes! - Long after that, I saw the signals just rising to the sky from afar and learned to understand them. - The moor, in its mysterious interior - it glowed, it burned! - And for a long time after gave testimony of what we had conjured up in the game. The autumn rain came, the winter, and with it, the end of these strange smoke signals that only we alone knew how to decipher.
Was there anything more wonderful than this anticipatory wait for spring to come, and then the summer, full of joy, and then the summer school-holiday season with all its attractions? And where was I most drawn to when the sun was shining bright and clear? – to the water, to the swimming pond. I practiced swimming. The strong roots of a proud oak tree on the edge of the shore served me as first aid. Holding on to it with both hands convulsively, the legs kicking, finally only one hand, but then off - hurrah! - swallowed - spat - sank. Try it again - finally - like a fish in the water! - After all, it was the first success. To keep oneself above water, what an art!
Who can dive the longest and who can swim the furthest under water, who can jump down from the highest point! There was no end to our games. –And then there were the rowing boats - how much fun is a boat race! - a naval battle, capsizing, and when things were really wild, which they always were, the boat almost sank. Here we had fun and played freely in God's wonderful nature.
Nothing remained unknown to me, it had to be discovered and examined. I had taken a particular interest in Mr. Schubert’s ponds with the carps and the goldfish. This was the most interesting area for me in every season. Already in early spring when the first water lilies were resting like stars between the reeds, I was quickly on the spot. - They were gladly bought by the flower stores in Bunzlau for the wreaths that decorated the graves. I earned a few pennies, and, at the same time, was happy about the success. –
I was even more attracted by the fish - the small goldfish that Mr. Schubert had put in his pond and that had multiplied. Something had to be done here. How could I resist? I was an artist in catching things. That was something I understood. After all, it was something so easy to do with my hands. There! - scurrying back and forth between the reeds, and the water not deep at all, only up to my knees the water reaches. Besides, who could catch me here! A vessel was quickly at hand. - Equipped with a rusty tin can I made a decision. "Off to the pond. Goldfish belong in an aquarium!" How much nicer they are than those little grey bearded mudfish from the ditch with which I had to content myself until now and that did not last very long.
One or two goldfish, like the boys in the town where I had seen them, that was my dream. Barefoot, as always, this time off to catch goldfish. - It was so quiet all around, what could happen to disturb me during this catch? Although one never knew! Caution was required. A watchful look to the right and left did no harm at all. –
There they swam, the little golden animals - one, two - and another one, - caught! - I had never experienced such luck. But now quickly back to the shore next to the road. - "Who do I see coming?" Mr. Schubert in uncomfortably close proximity! - "You rascal" I hear. "Stop!" - No, never! and run away with my golden catch, and run as fast as I can. Mr. Schubert ran after me, but he gave up quickly. – Luckily I escape, but I can still hear him shouting and scolding behind me: "Don't let me see you here again!” - Breathlessly, I hold the box tightly in my hand. - Oh no! They had jumped out during this wild chase, there was not one little fish to be seen. - From now on I was not that keen anymore to go to the goldfish pond. –
But that’s okay, there were other ponds and waters that could not keep me away and that were very enticing to me. - In the other direction, towards the forest, there was another pond - hidden among the bushes and willow branches. A small stream gushed from here through the bushes and the meadow. I had never caught anything here before. –
The small ladder wagon was full of collected wood, as it was still our job to find firewood for Mom from time to time. Now we had time to romp and jump around in the shallow creek. - Maybe one could catch small fish here too. Easy to understand, I had lost the desire for it lately. – But what do I see, very close in front of me between the pebbles? Two carp, like two big stones, immobile in the shallow water. Could they still swim at all? How did these guys get here? They had escaped from the pond! - What a catch. - This time, no artistry was required. But how could I get home with these two magnificent fishes without attracting attention? - That was not an art either. There was a good spot under the wood in the wagon.
How happy mother was when we arrived back home with this catch! Something so good, something precious for the kitchen, and, on top of it, the wood to cook them! However, I had to honestly assure her that we had not made the catch in any forbidden way. What a wonderful carp meal we had the next few days. The goat meat remained in the pot; it had completely lost its appeal.
Grandma's hometown, Liebichau, was about 1 ½ hours away from us. The small straw-covered cottage still stood, as it did then, in the middle of green meadows and fields, just like ours. Just as she had experienced it. The old ivy-covered plum trees and the garden, next to it the well, and the old brick oven next to the barn floor – all testament to the past time of her childhood which she told us a lot about when she was in the right mood. I knew the old house from the inside and outside. I loved it; almost sunk in itself, as it seemed to me, with the small windows. The door was so low that an adult had to bend his head deeply when entering.
Now Aunt Emma Linke lived there all alone, and I loved to visit her. A steep staircase led under the roof, filled with fragrant hay. During an overnight visit, I could not have wished for a nicer bed than the soft hay bed up there. Especially when the pussy cat came over to me from her mouse hunt and slipped purring under my blanket.
Grandmother was one of 12 children who grew up in this small and narrow habitat. – She told us about the great inflation when you could get nothing for the money, a hard time, difficult to feed a family with 12 children. This had not been easy for the family father. - He had been a hard-working master shoemaker and was happy when he could sell a pair of finished shoes or boots in the far away city for a few coins to make a little bit of money. It was not enough to keep hunger away. If the need was too great, the children stayed home from school and had to help in the fields of the big landowners during the day to earn a little bread. –
At the age of 14, mother sent her Ernestine (grandmother) to Berlin. She was now considered a grown up and should be able to take care of herself from now on! Berlin was 8 to 10 hours away by train, and there, little Ernestine had to find her way in such a foreign world, completely inexperienced. In the big city there was work and soon she had taken on a position in a household. - But the great homesickness, the desire to go back to mother, did not stay away.
Still a shy, little country girl, her few belongings wrapped up in a bundle, she sat in the train again, crying softly the whole trip back to mother, without a ticket. - Did the conductor feel pity or did he overlook the little creature in a corner of the carriage? - What would Mother say at home when Ernestine would be standing in front of their door? Mother at home would surely understand, but what good did that do? - There was no more room for Ernestine. Soon it was time to return to Berlin. "Uncle Ferdinand will find you a job."
It was to be a final farewell from Liebichau, her home. From now on, Grandmother stood on her own two feet. Life was serious for Ernestine and it was hard to earn a living as she soon found out with the heavy iron and the hot ironing rollers. There was no electricity yet at that time, it was barely that gas had found its way to lighting the streets and rooms; she secretly had to prepare potatoes over an open flame. And what was is that she had to hear from the lady of the manor in her last position before she ran away: "Fried potatoes are still much too good for the servants because it requires the addition of butter and salt!” Grandma wanted to tell us with all of this: "Children, see how good you have it today!" Times had changed. –
She told us about many of her experiences and many stories so charmingly in her Silesian dialect. And when she did that, she was full of life and put her heart and soul in the telling of these stories.
Mother's hearing had deteriorated considerably. It was a condition that had started and was not getting better. She bore this burden with patience. - None of the modern electronic hearing aids known today that provide relief for many hearing impaired people existed. - She had a device, a black ear trumpet, that mother got used to over time, especially when she was in company, while we children got used to talking loudly. Helmut was in his second year of apprenticeship, when he brought her one of these miracle hearing aids from Siemens & Halske. It wasn't quite right yet, but she found some relief and was able to follow the Sunday sermon a little better.
She sat in the first row on the sisters' side, close to the pulpit. We boys, on the other hand, sat on the brothers' side as usual, - an old custom of the congregation according to the saying: "Keep the rams separated from the ewes”. Despite all this, it was not always possible to stay fully attentive. Here, too, there was sometimes restlessness and moaning, and that in a well-ordered church. –
What was that suddenly for a piercing, sustained whistle? A silly boyish prank or a failure of a high organ pipe? That sometimes happened! And all heads turned in this and that direction! - No - mother's hearing aid had once again completely given up. The battery was apparently at the end of its life. – Nothing is perfect in this world. That is why, on the next Sunday, sister Ternow reached for her old ear trumpet again, the only apparatus that was fully reliable, in order to avoid an even worse embarrassment in the future.
It was not easy for her. Her best friend, Sister Klein, came to her often for a visit. They both understood each other very well, were connected by a deep inner understanding. Sister Klein also had a condition, she had an issue with her larynx and only lisped. One could hardly hear her, let alone understand her. And yet, often the two of them sat at the coffee table and not seldom in deep conversation, where one "understood the other” magnificently. - It often amazed me how two dear people with such different physical ailments found each other here and understood each other so wonderfully. It was incomprehensible to me at that time. Today it is clear to me. It is the spirit of inner understanding that spoke here and brought people closer. A small proof of how true Christianity takes the lead, where spirit and truth override all physical weaknesses.
When I was 10 years old, I entered the boys' school in Bunzlau. No school bus picked me up or brought me back home. Walking is healthy, they said. It was just under one hour one way. Classes started at 8 o'clock, being late was very rare, much less pretending to be sick or staying at home. There were two routes I could use, the dusty road under the old linden trees or a forest path that led over the Drüsselberg and across the fields, which I preferred to take.
Saturday was no exception, we had lessons until 12 o'clock. - It was the usual market day and always interesting. Since my way through the city was not far away, I could not miss the market hustle and bustle under any circumstances. Oh, there was everything! In autumn there were the empty barrels with surely some pickled cucumbers left at the bottom that found in us boys grateful buyers. Such a tasty treat! – Even more interesting - the fair. All the things that were there to admire and marvel at, it offered everything that my heart desired. Whether cream, bananas, cookies, lollipops - or - Erdel shoe polish with the emblem of the Frog King! Oh, I stood and watched in amazement.
Before I knew what was happening, someone took me and swung me up high and onto the Frog King's throne. Hurrah, I am being served like a king's son. How that shone, the first shoe is done! But what do I hear shouting? "Finished! Now off the throne!". No, I think it cannot be. Where is the same splendor on the left shoe? I had imagined it so beautifully. - Shyly, half ashamed, I creeped along the street, one shoe so dirty, the other so shiny. What I experience here is a disgrace, could anything save the day? The way home leads through a lot of dust and sand. – But Look! It is hard to believe how quickly the shine of the cleaned shoe disappeared!
The bustling market came to an end around late midday, and the horse-drawn carts of the farmers and traders were on their way home. Maybe today was the day when I might get lucky enough to have an opportunity to hitch a ride or to swing unnoticed onto the back board of a carriage. - How beautiful it sat there! - But there! I hear the whip instead of on the horses - cracking around my ears! So the fiend had noticed me this time after all. Faster than jumping up was the leap down again! I succeeded better at the next carriage that passed by, even without “sticking out my thumb" and I was able to get a short free ride to the next crossroads that led me home safely.
How nice were the holidays! Helmut came home for Pentecost; we had not seen each other for a long time, there was a lot of news to report from the big city of which his youngest brother did not know much. After all, what did we experience in the village where hardly anything ever happened? For him, the man of the world, this was no longer a place to stay for an extended period of time. Something had to be done about it! "How about a trip and a hike in the Sudeten Mountains?" A wonderful thought, and the three of us agreed one hundred percent this time. Even mother thought it was a very good idea.
So the lads traveled across the countryside.
With their backpacks packed and a stick in their hands.
On the march we went to the little town and continued by train,
to the Sudeten Mountains we went, where the hike began.
The path led steeply upwards but then, what splendor!
On the ridge, past the spring where the Elbe river awakes.
Rest here, then continue until the sun sinks.
In between some cheerful song resounds.
A wonderful day comes to an end.
High above, in the next mountain hut we find peace.
Oh, wandering in God's nature, what a pleasure,
how full is the heart, how does it lift the spirit.
The next morning, we continued on our journey, over to the Bohemian side "Austria"; I am in another country for the first time. The path leads down through the Melzer Valley, through dark pine forests, - a rushing brook as our familiar companion, until we reach Spindelmühle in a friendly valley. And so we walk on and on, from place to place, until it was time to think about the return trip.
Two beautiful sunny days lay behind us. Once again our path led upwards and we passed the border stone back to our home country. From here we quickly descended down into the valley, to Hirschberg-Warmbrunnen - yes, we had made it! – From there the train was to take us home, tired from our days of marching and climbing. The station welcomed us.
Helmut had the money to buy the tickets. There is still plenty of time until the next train leaves. He steps to the counter to get our tickets. But arguments arise - as I hear: "Did we not know that the prices had doubled starting from the first of the month?!” How was such a thing possible? We only had enough money for one ticket. But no, that was out of the question, we have to stick together, no matter what; we had to march on. Inflation had thwarted our plans.
But what could be do?! Once again we took our hiking staff to hand. Oh, hiking, hiking through the Silesian countryside; this time tired and hungry, we made our way back home! The rucksack had become empty and much lighter, no bread, no bread spread, or fruit, only water to quench our thirst. Nothing was left over! - "Tired and the rucksack limp and empty." Finally, we could rightfully sing this journeyman’s song.
In the next store that we saw, we were planning on stocking up our supplies with the remaining bills. Our "bulk purchase" covered one pound of semolina flour, one loaf of bread, and 3 lemons. And nobody had any pity for us. No vehicle passed us, much less a car that could have taken us for a long stretch of the way. –
A sheepdog had been running beside us for some time. What did the animal want with us? Had it scented in Johann the compassionate heart of a good-natured animal friend? It did not leave his side. Even after it suffered an accident. How that accident happened while leaving the faithful animal still intact is truly a miracle. – The dog couldn't stand the streetcar that passed us behind Warmbrunnen. Before we knew what was happening, the deed was done! The barking animal disappeared between the wheels. Oh horror! Was that the end of him? I did not want to look. No, on the other hand, our friend came out alive again like a miracle, but with a badly limping hind leg as a sad consequence. What could we "hungry guys" offer the poor creature? He had adopted us and from now on did not leave us.
The sun was burning hot. To quench my thirst, I sucked my precious lemon once every 100 meters. Water was all we could offer our limping companion. At night, on a mountain slope where we made our first camp, each one wrapped in his blanket, he kept faithful watch. In the early morning, we boiled “semolina pudding”. Everyone got their share. Of course also “Prince”, who finished first. I couldn't serve him bones or sausage skins for dessert; for the near future I myself had to tighten my belt.
How endless seemed to me this 2-day march from village to village until we were back home with mother. And mother's first question was: "What have you guys caught there again and brought home to me? Does the big animal needs to be fed as well?". – Prince had recovered well after 3 weeks, then, suddenly, our friend had disappeared, never to be seen again. Had he started his journey home? Nobody could solve this question! Only one person felt happy and that was our dear mummy!
The winter in Silesia was harsh and bleak in some years. Yes, cruelly cold I would say today; when the first cold wave, this icy east wind, tore the last leaves from the trees. - I did not know it any other way. We children had adapted to the change of nature, the regiment during the course of the year. Although, it often happened that our regular life was threatened to freeze to a standstill by the merciless cold. The country life showed its pitfalls and dark sides.
The double windows had long since been brought down from the attic, washed, and put in place; a work that took a lot of time and effort, since all this had to be done from outside. We had collected beautiful moss in the forest and filled the lower part in between the two windows and decorated it with colorful straw flowers. Here the frost could not enter anymore.
The well, the only source of water, was wrapped with straw. But there, one morning nothing helped anymore; the pumping handle could not be moved anymore; it was stuck, frozen. Even thawing with hot water became useless. When this happened, then every morning the ice had to be cut open, and a bucket had to be let down in the depths of the well – with fingers freezing blue and stiff. –
Of course, it was not long until a great surprise came along during this daily responsibility of water scooping. Of course, it took two of us to carry the daily amount of water into mother's kitchen. Johannes and I were up for the task. The iron pumping handle was no longer of any use, it was stuck, immobile. "Why don't you put your tongue on the pump handle?" - says Johannes! And of course I do it! Oh shock - "caught, stuck". Quickly I tear myself free. Oh dear! A piece of tongue hangs from the handle and what a pain! How long would it last? Winter had found a new victim! –
In some years the cold lasted far into the spring. – School started early in the morning. And so I had to get up at 6 o'clock in the morning, because the way to school was no pleasure. The slow train did not run often and there were no other means of transportation. When the alarm clock woke me up and my mother called out once more: "Get up! It's high time!", I often found the upper beds decorated with ice crystal on the edge and the walls shone in their own splendor. There was no stove here that could have provided us with warmth. In an extreme case, mother would provide a hot-water bottle when we went to bed. I was hardened, and colds, which today one tries to cure with a hundred different patented medicines, were foreign to me. –
The walk home was sometimes even more terrible. How the east wind blew as soon as I reached the small hill at the brickyard. Even the old linden trees on both sides of the road groaned with a never before seen cold. When the breaking of the frozen branches resounded like a crack of a whip, and my face also threatened to freeze, barely able to cope with the onslaught, I knew how deep the barometer had sunk below zero. What luck, when a horse-drawn sled came racing towards me with jingling bells, that is, if the farmer let me jump on the skids, and in a flying gallop we moved towards the dreamy little village of Krauschen. –
No, there was no such thing as staying at home and pretending to be sick, and only a rare incident would have kept me away from school. The temperature in a harsh winter sometimes dropped to minus 28°C and it lasted for weeks. The ponds were frozen almost to the bottom and I could admire the frozen thick carp fish, frozen like dead, under the mirror-smooth ice cover.
If the frost set in in the moonlit nights in time before the first snow fell, then we didn't have to wait long and a solid, smooth layer of ice formed over the lonely ponds. I could hardly wait to try out the skates for the first time. Was the ice already strong enough for the upcoming winter sports? When it was no longer possible to break with my heel through the ice at the edge of the pond, nothing could stop me.
Hoarfrost had given the barren landscape a fairytale dress overnight. Yes, every tree and bush was full of glittering crystals. With the afternoon sun shining once again - there was nothing to keep me in the living room in this winterly splendor. I had to get out. The ice was already firm, and wonderful like a polished mirror. Only at the edges there were isolated treacherous places where you never knew what could happen when you jumped over them. Caution was called for, but still, a daring game.
During the game, during the hunt, one chasing the other, caution was soon forgotten. – And so we went in a big arch closer to the shore. Too close? - Who could have known: a sharp short cracking noise, and before I knew it – Sigfried was chest deep in the icy cold water. It was a stroke of luck that it was not any deeper. Struggling, I tried to grab and hold on to the next thing that I could reach near the shore and crawled out. I stood there, freezing and trembling like a wet poodle. What would mother say if she saw me in this state. Should I walk home? No! Mother must never know about this. I would never be allowed to go out on the ice again. So I stayed and did my laps and circles faster and faster to keep my body warm. But what did it help? I had to go home at some point, with this wet, cold, and guilty feeling that mother was not to know anything about this until I was able to reach refuge in the radiating warmth of our tiled stove. And, what otherwise hardly occurred, tired I longed this evening prematurely for my warm bed. –
I was used to the wetness on the ice, but this time I had brought too much of it home. But who hasn't fallen and slipped into the ponds that formed during the thaw, when the ice begins to melt? And especially when, despite everything, we continued our daring game. The ice slowly began to give way, like an elastically stretched blanket that rose and fell like the waves in the wind. Only a few dared to glide over it at a daredevil pace - the winter could not last much longer. From the window I see the first messengers of spring in the garden. - The snowdrops shone through the white blanket that buried everything else.
“Mietze”, the cat, belonged to the family and was loved by us all. Her black and white fur was too tempting to leave her alone, whether she wanted to or not. She felt independent and like the master of the house. Yes, sometimes I could not resist playing a little trick on her. She was a good mouser, but for this work she also made her extra "demands" for good food. –
Quite often we had salt herrings, mother's favorite dish. They usually stood on the kitchen table to soak overnight. "Wasn't there one missing? No, even two!" I hear mother say in the morning. "Did I not cover the bowl? or had I miscounted?" - It can't be. Later, she swept the kitchen and found two cleanly eaten bones far under the table! - "You minx, you have done it again! Get out, and don't let me see you here again today!" - The poor animal disappeared and suffered in silence. But children can be so evil.
I had wanted to play a little joke. A colorful ribbon and a little bag with something rustling in it. But this time that was too much what the rascal had attached to Kitty's tail! - Oh horror! What had I done, who would have guessed! With lightning speed, the dear animal runs out, up the lofty stairs, through the open window onto the flat roof and disappears in a bold leap down to the garden and further over the fence to the neighbor, where I find her frightened and full of terror in front of the back door. - After this devil hunt, Mietze had earned half a herring, and I learned: "Yes, never torture an animal for fun!” Nothing like that was allowed to happen again. Our pets were well looked after and our faithful Mietze especially. As she advanced in age she loved the warm places, her favorite place, the open oven. And it was here that she found her last resting place during a cold winter. –
During this time of chaos in the German economy, who did not long for a new order? It was to take years. The money - the ‘Mark’, had hardly any value anymore. The rising prices now took on astronomical figures. Bonds, mortgages, long-term money loans, and especially the savings, whoever still had some, were left with no value. Mother had, for example, lent a good friend in our village several thousand Mark in an interest-bearing loan, and 4 years later he paid it back! - It was barely enough for a few simple shoes that mother bought for me. When he got the money, he had equipped his business with new woodworking machines. What a difference in value! –
"You can’t go wrong if you learn a trade!" or “A trade in hand finds gold in every land!” A well-known saying as I often heard it during these weeks of choosing a profession. During my last school year there was a class for craftsmanship that interested me very much. I never missed an afternoon, even though I had to walk the long way to Bunzlau twice. - There were a number of real joiner’s benches and toolboxes where we boys could tinker and build with good instructions and make many artisan pieces. –
What did I want to be? I was now 14 years old, my school days came to an end and with them, the carefree years of my childhood. - The time for a decision was approaching. "What do you want to be when you grow up, boy?" Uncle Willi, as our legal guardian over us fatherless children, also had a word to say here in wise counsel, and often I heard the above mentioned "trade"-motto from him.
I liked to draw and was one of the best in my class, just like with the essays we wrote. To my discomfort, I was always one of those who had to read it out aloud. My drawing book was full of sketches that were the cause of great admiration. Why couldn't I continue to foster and develop such talent? How I would have loved to go to the State School of Ceramics, in modeling and design, a field that interested me very much. However, a longer apprenticeship in pottery and ceramics was also possible. Bunzlau was world famous for this. Unfortunately, we lacked the means for it and it would have been an impossible financial burden for our dear mother.
So many dice to roll for this important question for my future. "You will learn the carpentry trade, a practical profession like the one Johannes is already learning for the past 2 years with Master Bullotre in Bunzlau at the market square!” With this, my fate had been decided for now. A three-year apprenticeship contract was signed. –
My confirmation with the preparations and the weekly classes came at the same time. It meant something serious for a young human life. I looked forward to all this with mixed feelings. A new period of life was to begin. Was I ready to cope with life out there? Many unexpected things were about to happen to me. –
Confirmation
Three "teenagers" entered a classroom of the girls' boarding school, visibly anxious, shy and embarrassed; - the "Höhere Töchterschule" (“Secondary School for Daughters”) of the Moravian Church, where Pastor Grunewald gave us confirmation lessons. It was the first time that I entered the interior of this institute. - The girls were already sitting in their seats in a well-behaved manner, and we three boys, Johannes, Günter and I, had to sit in the first row in front of the 12 teenage girls so as not to cause any disturbances.
Where was there a better education than in these exemplary schools, where the utmost in discipline and education was observed. Unfortunately, it did not fail to happen that there were of course some hours during which there was a lack of proper attention when listening to and reciting the verses learned. – A faltering and quiet giggling behind our back. – Not that I dared to turn around; the look that checked us all from the front seemed too serious for that! Brother Grunewald took it seriously. I learned many sayings and verses from the hymnal of our congregation, which still today shine out anew in many a hymnal text and remind us of that time.
Then came the public examination before the assembled congregation. I thought I would sink into the earth, starting form the moment they called my name. Oh, this silence! When will this be over? Questions and answers in quick succession. - How it all worked out in the end - I do not know until this day – and I hear only the last words of Brother Grunewald: "Good. You can sit down.” The next was Günter; he felt the same, shy and uncomfortable; then followed Johann Siken, the oldest of us. We boys and the girls passed everything well, and were released with the blessings of the congregation.
The confirmation on Palm Sunday 1922 turned out to be a solemn and memorable day. Already the outward appearance - the first new, dark blue suit with "long pants"; how grown-up I looked at the age of 14 in front of the big mirror in the parlor. The stiff collar, even more so the dark tie, something quite unusual, always caused me trouble, never wanted to sit straight, gave always a cause for "suspicion". –
A new decisive period of my life began for me from that day on. I was equipped for the world outside, for what lay ahead of me, a world with all its temptations, its cunning, and treachery. – So many things from this time, many a Bible verse and saying remained anchored in my heart and became a blessing for me, even later, on the rough path of life. - My chosen confirmation motto said it so clearly:
"Not that I have seized it, but I chase after it to seize it."
Philippians 3:12
My apprenticeship began!
The day was long. 10 hours and usually longer on my feet. Oh, how much was demanded of a "general drudge". At the carpenter’s bench I learned the first practical steps under the guidance of another apprentice, with the jointer plane, the long plane, or the fist saw; here we learned everything from the ground up. And until I finished cleaning up the workshop, the town hall bell rang 7 o'clock in the evening.
There was little time for other things. - The nights, in a windowless, "dark hole" without fresh air, were hardly bearable. What had I gotten myself into here? How had Johannes endured this for 2 years already? The short lunch break at the Master family’s table was used on the side by us to fetch water or coals - 3 stairs up - and to do other household chores, which really had nothing to do with vocational training. Johannes and I felt like 2 rushed deer, always on the run.
Beneath the house was the wood chip cellar with the heating supply for the winter; a safe "hiding place" where nobody would have suspected me after lunch. Nobody neither sought nor found me there, and I could stretch out my tired limbs for a few minutes. Not often did I succeed to hide there, because soon the hunt began anew. Only in the evening could I find the longed-for rest. - "Boy, how do you look!?" I heard mother say when I first came home for the weekend. "Pale and thin". Yes, "Apprenticeship years are not Master years!" wasn't that the saying?
But I learned something and already had my place at a workbench, with all the tools I had to keep in first class condition. I had to make something on my own and at the same time help the journeymen. Those knew what they were doing, especially those that worked 24/7 to finish quickly.
How many beautiful oak veneered bedrooms and living rooms were made in the workshop there. Most of them went to France as reparations after a lost war. Large companies had been dismantled, so it was left to the small workshops to fill the gaps. The economic development progressed only slowly. There was not yet much to cover the demand. A new generation grew up to replace the millions that were killed in the great war. And on top of it, the inflation continued unabated. What today would cost a hundred Mark was for sale a week later at 10 times the price. –
And it was precious little what an apprentice received as a daily wage. Sometimes it was barely enough for a good portion of Slag sausage, which I gladly fetched for the journeymen from the butcher master at the corner of the market. Especially when the portion was too small for the required weight during weighing and a proper end for the full weight was added! - "The best end!" - Yes, that disappeared on the way back - into my hungry stomach. - Necessity is often the mother of invention. However, a lingering suspicion sometimes remained, especially when the journeyman, irritated, took the parcel with a questioning gaze and it suddenly struck like lightning, and he started to yell because of the "small portion" - but I quickly turned around without answering his questions to hurry back to my workplace.
These fellows, they made us work hard for them; I had to be there with a hundred and one hands. The wood-chip furnace was never allowed to go out, and the blazing heat radiated from it. There was no end to the veneering of large surfaces.
But never mind! We " drudges" also had our tricks and methods to settle one or the other score with these journeymen - our "tormentors" - especially with those who annoyed us the most. Very soon I learned to take advantage of their mistakes and weaknesses. –
Cleaning up the workshop after work was the last duty of the day that needed to be done and took its time. The journeymen stopped on time. Their "work clothes" did not always lie or hang where they belonged, the wooden shoes, the clogs, stood in one or the other corner. Should I still deal with this when I tidy up? - Nothing was further from my mind. I had enough to do. However, there had to be order, possibly with a little lesson, no matter what! - It was the journeymen who were the first to storm out before the bell rang and always arrived late in the morning, the last to arrive - we knew that.
The hot glue in the pot helped with a "good deed" – we glued the wooden shoes to the floor. When the Master came through the workrooms early in the morning, as he often did, and saw one of these "late" arrivals sneaking out again with hammer and chisel, he started yelling and raving next door until the clogs jumped out of the creaking wooden floorboard. Then we were in high spirits and gleeful about our deed. Of course, we enjoyed this fun, but woe betide if we had caught the "wrong" journeyman and his wooden clogs, then surely a moment would come when I would have to paying for this. –
Who will not fall from time to time into evil moods that can make life hell for his fellow men?! My Master was no exception. - I can still hear the excited voices from the next room sounding over to us. "He has once again gotten up from the wrong side of the bed!" one journeyman calls to the other. And quickly we started to hide everything that was not quite perfect and could give cause to raise the Master's wrath even higher.
It was sometimes the smallest things that led to a catastrophe among the apprentices. I will not forget the incident in the early morning hours when once again "horror" swept through the workshop. The victim that day was a young volunteer, the son of a large manufacturer from Breslau. What exactly it was that the Master's eye did not like on the workpiece was hard to tell; the prongs on a molding, a not quite tight joint, or did the right angle not match the wood grain? Whatever it was, he found it! –
I hear the usual thunder of his voice, like a sergeant, when, in his anger, the piece was swung up in a high arch - a bedside table - and it was flung down with a loud noise over the edge of the workbench so that the pieces flew everywhere. - A miracle that none of them caught me, since my workbench was standing close by. How Gerhard managed to put the cabinet in perfect condition once again amazed even the journeymen. He searched for each piece and glued it together for the second time. However, Gerhard the volunteer did not feel bound to abide by such methods; the following day his workplace was empty.
Machines for processing the wood were not yet available in our carpentry. This was done in the machine room of another company, that of Master Winsker, which was located at the other end of our town. It as not a very pleasant task when we apprentices had to drive the wood back and forth. It was the home of my schoolmate Fritz, I had visited him often and knew the workshop well; he now trained there and learned the same trade from his father.
The drive over the bumpy road downhill, as usual at an unstoppable speed, was no pleasure, especially when the heavy load on these two-wheeled carts started to slip backwards and the person in front, stretched like a horse between two drawbars, suddenly dangled in the air. There was no stopping! The whole load suddenly lay in the middle of the road. –
Hardly a week passed without a new incident causing some excitement. - "The drudge" had to jump and run like a dog. There were, for example, the journeymen's membership fees for the union to deliver. A long way on foot to the office. - When the door was opened, a vicious shepherd dog jumped at me and grabbed me by my left upper arm with his teeth. – It was not too bad; one could hardly notice a wound. "Did it go well after all?" - When I came back, I was told that there was a ban on free running dogs because of the danger of rabies in our district, and that I had to report the incident to the local authorities as soon as possible. The result, although there was no serious wound, was: "You have to go to the clinic in Breslau for observation and you will be given the dog's head for further examination. That was a serious statement from the journeymen!
I was overcome with fear and grief - indeed, I had to go to Breslau, luckily without the dog's head! and for 10 days I was a victim of many injections that were supposed to serve a purpose against rabies. - I remained healthy. - However, another "rage" was in my bones after these great days. The "biting sheepdog" was, as I heard, still alive with a young brood. So it was like that! The faithful animal had sensed danger for its young when I entered. "Logical dog mind!" - And I, of all people, had to be its victim.
It never really was very fast having to run back and forth to perform courier services for everyone. A bicycle was expensive; buying a new one was out of question. I had saved some money and bought a used one, my first own bicycle. In the long dark corridor at the cellar entrance the bicycles were safe and always ready. But this time - my bicycle had disappeared! Who was the thief? There! I just see someone disappearing through the front door with my bicycle. I think, this can only be my bicycle! Already he is gone! I don't need much thinking and quickly swing onto one of the parked bicycles. In high speed pursuit it goes across the market place. I see the guy just disappearing around the next corner, then he is gone. I follow him. He is in a great hurry. No wonder, the thief, I think, and gradually catch up with him. And indeed, it is my bicycle!
I yell at him: "You rascal, stop at once!" He stops, jumps off, and looks at me stupidly! "My bicycle! How dare you! Bring it back!" It turns out that without my knowledge, he "just borrowed" the bicycle for a quick errant in the neighboring town! How could I know that? It turns out he was a distant relative who was visiting the Master. That, however, explained this error of "theft". - There was a lot of laughter among the journeymen. Something like that quickly makes the rounds.
As a delivery vehicle, the shop only had this already described vehicle with its pitfalls. We often had the opportunity to deliver a new piece of furniture with it, to set up a bedroom, or an elegant living room in dark oak set off with walnut. A tip of "20 or 50 thousand Mark" with a new bank bill was no surprise to us in this time of inflation. - Who would ever have thought that we would one day have such generous assets. Already in the first year of my apprenticeship I became a "millionaire". Soon I owned one of the most interesting "money collections" of bills; towards the end the value went into the billions; although, the paper value was greater than the note imprinted.
In the summer of the second year of apprenticeship I had already learned this and that and was able to work, and many a beautiful piece was created. In any case, that what I thought. - The Master, apparently, was also satisfied with his youngest helper. But I noticed that he thought that it should go faster with me at times. That, however, was easier said than done, since I had to give the journeymen a hand at the same time, and, in the process, lost many a precious hour on my own work. The Master was only barely interested in that (or not at all!), and so, on one fine day, I stood in front of him: "How is it that you are not further along with the 2 oven benches? I will show you how to hurry up!" And so it began. – "Come down here, I've got some cutting to do for you!" - The "going down" went with my clogs, which I wore at that time, not exactly too fast, and on top of it the steep stairs to the yard! – “Up, and down again! And again, up and down! I will teach you how to run once and for all!"
And as fate would have it, - at that moment a clog flew off Sigfried’s foot, down the stairs in a wide arc, and closely missed the Master's head. The second clog and I followed it down the stairs! Oh horror, on top of everything. "You scoundrel! How dare you doing this?!" What could I do? I felt myself caught by the collar and flying against a pile of wood so that suddenly every rib and my shoulder that caught the most of the impact, hurt. – I was used to him continuing to rage, but I was not used to the pain in my shoulder; it wouldn't go away. I wanted to scream, and on top of it the inner outrage. –
I did my best at the workbench but I was not able to do the jointing on the long workbench in this condition. "What should I do now?" - "Why don't you go to the doctor," said one of the journeymen. – The next day, no sooner said than done. – And thus, a doctor heard what had happened to me the day before. - "Unable to work for two weeks," was the diagnosis. However, I had to go once more to my Lord and Master and report to him. - What would happen now? His look pierced me - not a word. I was amazed. The storm had died down completely. Had I gone to the wrong doctor? That was it, indeed! It turned out that Dr. Burman was his trusted family doctor. - What an embarrassment for him as I was to hear later!
The fall down the stairs, the woodpile, it was clear to me that no horse would ever have brought me back to this servitude. Although my good Uncle Willi, as my guardian, tried his best to settle the delicate situation in a friendly manner, my further stay here was impossible. My shoulder and a few ribs still hurt badly.
Very soon, after a few days, I found a new apprenticeship position in another company. No objection came from the Master or my guardian, and very soon after this short vacation I was standing in a company where I continued to learn and where I fulfilled my duty with joy. - Even mother was happy that this evil chapter had come to an end. –
What a difference I felt here with Master Hammer. It resembled the silence after the storm. Friendly, spacious, modern, this workshop was furnished in a modern way. He soon found out that Sigfried could work independently and was able to perform. That was fine with me. It was quieter here. Only rarely did he find anything wrong with my work. No more being hunted like in the old days, but even so, many a beautiful piece of furniture in light veneered oak wood was created. It was no longer the "working from scratch" that I learned here. I was assigned everything; finishing and veneering. The work here was done without the help of an apprentice. After a short time, I was able to work like a journeyman, and the last months went by very quickly. There was no more rushing and hustling. There was even time in the evenings and on weekends where I found the necessary balance with sports and games with my friends.
We met in our small circle of the YMCA for singing and music, but also for quiet hours, listening to the words from the bible, which also served for daily life and further strengthening of character. This is especially true in the years of the development of young minds. It gave me a hold and joy. We rode our bicycle to the big regional meetings, where young people from all parts of our district gathered. In Lauban, in Nyskie, here living Christianity was proclaimed. It left lasting values with me and many who gathered here around God's word. I got along well with our leader Hans Reuter, an old friend, as well as with Gerhard and Martin Vogt - youth companions with whom I had been friends since childhood. Fritz, the son of my master - I helped him where I could when once again something with his work didn't work out and no progress could be noticed. Otherwise a splendid fellow, he came regularly to our meetings and sports lessons.
Unfortunately, Günter did not belong to this circle. Nevertheless, we often came together. He continued to attend Secondary school and probably had to study hard all these years to keep his head above water. His talent was more in the musical field. Gifted on the piano, he loved the classics. We sat together for many hours, enthusiastic about his playing. When we had the time and opportunity, nothing kept us away from Bunzlau, the "city of good sound", to attend one or the other concert or even an opera performance.
This little town on the Bober river, it rightly bore this rare title. Here stood a pot made of clay, "which measures 30 bushels of peas". This small district town with its nearly 25 thousand inhabitants was also known as a health resort throughout the Lower Silesia region. It was a first rate place in regard to good schools and a number of educational institutions.
The favorable location in the midst of a fertile and successful agriculture, and especially the adjacent extensive forests of the Lower Silesian heath were a considerable advantage for the city administration. Old ruins of the weather-beaten city wall closed in a circle around the smaller core of old historical buildings, but already long ago it had started to stretch its arms far beyond. The moat has disappeared except for the Odeum pond. A green strip of park with lush tree growth has been created here and closed the ring of a dreamy world of interesting and old buildings. The pointed towers of the Protestant and Catholic churches and the romantic town hall of the district rise above it.
Many small potteries are part of the flourishing industry of a world-famous craft of ceramic products. A state technical school, the only one in this field in Germany, as well as a similar one for the glass industry. Both testified to the mineral resources of the area which were successfully processed in the versatile small and large companies. As in most medieval towns, the town hall was the center of the town with its market place, where the farmers drove their wagons loaded with products to the town early every Saturday morning, and the rolling of the heavy iron tires over the bumpy stone pavement could be heard far and wide.
Johannes had started his first training at an electrical company, but he did not stay long. What he learned during this time was later the beginning of an active handicraft work, which we both followed with eagerness and interest. "Radio" was still a magic word. “Transmitter-receiver”, one read and heard a lot about this, and after not too long a time, a handmade receiver was standing on the table. Helmut, at Siemens, got us coils, copper wire, magnets and other things that I could immediately use in our handicraft work.
In Krauschen hardly anyone had heard the word "radio". A crystal set with a coil was the simplest thing, a miracle. With it I received the first incomprehensible sounds in my headphones, broadcast from a Breslau station. New parts were ordered; a tube set with an amplifier was to become the next "wonder box". A high antenna from the oak tree to the mast attached to the chimney, produced better results very soon!
The first reception - what were those mysterious sparks - "static" escaping the antenna, a new miracle. Grounding switches had to be built in between. And then, suddenly, after a long search on the scale, sounds, music in the headphones! And a voice over the ether! Unbelievable!
Soon after that, I built a second tube machine - three tubes with amplification. The sound was wonderful! And everyone who came to me to "listen" was amazed. I was the only one in our town who could demonstrate such miracles. There were many curious guests in the evening and on Sundays. 2 headphones were not enough to go around and so I built a sound funnel as a loudspeaker, using an old field headset from outdated wartime stock. The horn, for amplification, glued from thin plywood, gave a good sound and resonance. Again, a great improvement! The voices were clearly audible in the room.
I now had the room that grandma used to live in. She still came in sometimes: But today, what was that? She comes closer, listens, looks around everywhere, is extremely surprised. "Where are those men who talk all the time?" She looks into all the corners, shakes her grey head and goes out again in silence. - What would our dear parents say if we could tell them about the flight to the moon and the like, things that even today seem incredible to many people.
Photography was still an art and little known among the people. I wanted to learn it, but how could I get such a wonder box? When I was a child, I always felt strange when my mother said: "Today the photographer is coming and will take a pictures of us". That meant putting on the best clothes, standing up straight in Sunday clothes, and conjuring up a friendly face. How could this happen with us 3 lively boys at the same time in one picture? That was an art in itself. Fortunately, it always succeeded, which today, after more than 70 years, the albums with many a yellowed picture bear witness to.
Such a black extendable box with a big lens on a tripod, where you had to hide your head with a blanket, count to 3 or shout "Attention!", found its way into our hands one fine day. Johannes had gotten this miracle box from a friend. A real antique piece, especially suitable for taking portraits. But it became an expensive hobby considering the large glass plates of 12x18cm, because a 35mm film remained a dream of the future. - "Postcard size" was the latest fashion, and so a frame in a reduced size of “Postcard size” was built. And see, after the first failures it worked after all. A push of the button, then quickly to the darkroom in red light, and finally the developing. The exciting moment, when slowly the first picture outlines appeared on the glass plate and then quickly fixed, dried and, if possible, still copied the first daylight prints on the glossy paper.
Soon word spread around our town into what artists the Ternow brothers had turned! - Many a pretty young lady, or an older one, embarrassed about their vanity, came in her "Sunday bests". "A dozen pictures, postcard size, nice and fine, from 4 Marks on, for young and old", soon became a good business slogan and provided, besides some fun, also some pocket change for us.
The time of the journeyman's examination came closer. As a practical piece of work I was assigned to work on a 3-part linen and clothes cabinet. A beautiful oak bedroom wardrobe. This had to be beautiful from the beginning. The cleaning and sanding of the individual surfaces before putting them together was never-ending. It had to be 100% perfect!
Finally, the heavy curved doors with the piano hinges were ready to be screwed on, the last work shortly before the acceptance. - Suddenly a noise - what was happening? - one of the doors fell against the iron spindle in the workbench. I can't believe my eyes! - A horror! - That too in the end! - A hole in the finished surface? I dare not look at it at the moment. This will certainly cost me 2 newly veneered doors, because one has to look like the other in its grain. - My first look! Terrible! It looked terrible; luckily it was not a hole. - Maybe the door can be saved! - I worked on it for hours, with steam and hot water, until my eyes were tired and many a drop of sweat fell on the door surface.
There were only 3 days left. The examiners were to come. - They came and everything was touched and looked at with sharp eyes. A miracle - nobody discovered the shadow, which even I only saw very faintly: this fateful spot on the right door.
In the end I learned something good from this terrible situation. And as the Master often said: "You can be stupid, but you must know how to help yourself!” - I passed the theoretical examination with ease. Plus, a drawing on a natural scale. I was the only one who showed a work-drawing and passed the test with ‘good’!
Master Hammer kept me in his shop for several weeks. Johannes had also found employment here for a short time. - But the unemployment increased alarmingly and did not spare me. Nowhere was anything to be found in my learned profession. No money and little hope for the future. The Master still owed me the wages of the last weeks! The shop was bankrupt. And besides, it turned out that Master Hammer had embezzled the tax money of the local church as a last resort, which was his downfall. - Now it was up to me to see from where I could receive my last wage. –
The unemployment benefit that was paid was not worth mentioning. Finally, a small ray of hope. Master Miller in Gnadenberg had something to do for me, but not for long. I searched the newspaper; it was rare that anything was offered here. A short advertisement captured my interest. But where was this place? Far away. Nevertheless, I applied and got lucky. It was a small business in Siegersdorf, almost two hours away by bicycle, train, changing of trains - more complicated than I had ever experienced. There were 15 other carpenters who had applied, as the Master told me. - Eight weeks of this back and forth tired me out in the end, and by that time, I had found an interesting job in Bunzlau at the "Toy Manufacturer Krause". For the first time I worked here by myself, independently. It was also only of short duration. This time it had its very special reason!
Helmut had successfully completed his 4-year apprenticeship as a precision mechanic at Siemens and Holske in Berlin, and, soon after completion, decided to emigrate. - "America" was the magic word; whoever heard of it, listened up! Unemployment offered a bleak picture. The economy had reached an unprecedented low; anyone who saw or found any connection or opportunity in foreign countries was taking advantage of it.
Beyond the Atlantic lay the "New World". The old had nothing more to offer to a young and aspiring person. So for Helmut the coming months after his departure were an uninterrupted adventure, like a novel. - The Port of Hamburg - departure as a stowaway on an old freighter - discovery - shipwreck on the coast off Glasgow, Scotland - back to London, and again on board a freighter - discovery on the high seas - and to work as "coal shoveler". - Panama the first country in sight, through the Channel and to the Pacific Ocean, to San Francisco. Here, the “unauthorized cargo” was handed over to the authorities but escape again in the end. - This is how it sounded in the first letters from America. - Some of them appeared in our Bunzlau City Newspaper.
Mother was relieved once she knew her eldest, whom she had not heard from for so long, was safe. - I was thrilled by all the exciting experiences; who could banish the urge of youth in me. The world was big and open. There, in the far distance, lay the land, the land of unlimited possibilities. - Should I also dare to do it like him? But where was there someone who could vouch for me? "A wishful dream". Why should it not come true? Once it had to become possible.
I learned English, in the morning and in the evening, as much as I found time. After all, the language was the prerequisite for success in a foreign country. Among my father's things there was a language course from "Tuss & Langenscheidt" in the bookcase. That was the right thing for a self-instruction. It began with the first sentences: "Marly was dead, dead as a door nail”, to begin with! Later I bought the book "Thousand words of English" which I also leafed through with great enthusiasm. Every minute was precious from now on to master the English language.
The emigrant
Many interesting reports reached us from the New World, and each one showed that Helmut quickly settled into everything. He was doing well. Mother was happy about it. She had spent many a sleepless night worrying about him before we received the first sign of life from the foreign continent. In the meantime, he had met a dear family and even wanted to try to find guarantors for a possible emigration of his brothers.
In the meantime, Johann had found work in Berlin, but would have gladly accepted this tempting invitation. A year passed and the plan of emigration for him was not to be fulfilled. This could not prevent me from continuing to seriously consider this idea.
My English made progress. An exchange of letters developed with the daughter of the house where Helmut lived, a new field of vision opened up before me, all in anticipation and excitement. A letter to the American Consulate in Breslau was successful, a day was set for me to be summoned. There was still much missing until it came to this. Would Mother also give me permission to emigrate? and let me go too? I was 18 years old, and I knew how attached she was to her youngest. - This was hard for her. But like all mothers, she only wanted the best for her boys. How far was America; there was little prospect of seeing her again soon. Grandmother stood next to her when we talked about it.
For many, America and Canada in the twenties was the only hope to find a new beginning in life. World War I and its aftermath, inflation, and unprecedented unemployment spurred anyone with the courage to take advantage of any opportunity to get out of this desperate situation. Happy was the one who found any kind of work, because an army of millions of unemployed was now sitting on the streets, living from food stamps. –
No wonder that during this time many of the younger generation took up the walking stick and tried their luck abroad. In their old homeland they had no more obligations to fulfill. Nothing held them back in their homeland. The proverb: "Stay in the homeland and feed yourself honestly" had lost its validity here. - My job in Bunzlau thus became my last before my emigration.
At home I used the time as best I could. There were still many things to improve in the house; who was to do it later? Brother Johannes was in Berlin. - I built a summerhouse with table and benches in the garden for the joy of all who came to visit us for a coffee klatch at Mother Ternow's, where it was always lively on Sundays afternoon. I even had a loudspeaker connected; there were garden concerts, something very rare these days. Time flew by - the last weeks filled with all the preparations kept me in full excitement and expectation for what lay ahead.
My friends came and went. Rudi Hübner, my old friend from our club, we were all together once again and enjoyed ourselves until the early hours of the next day. I celebrated my farewell. - Youth knows no worries. Here was still a home; it was something so natural! The new world in the far distance before me still strange and unknown. It wanted to be conquered.
It was not difficult for me to break away from my old life; but it was different for those who stayed behind: "Well, we will probably not see each other again.” I hear the dear old grandma say goodbye to me. There she sat at the window with the purring pussy on her lap, or the bible in her hand. She was a Christian woman, convinced of her faith since the time in Charlottenburg. Pastor Rohrbach, of whom she spoke so much, had been the turning point in her life. Many years ago, Pastor Rohrbach had emigrated to Chicago, where he had founded an active Baptist church. Mother often told me about this, too. And the old grandmother, she was right when we said goodbye.
My dear mother accompanied me to Berlin, where I was able to spend the last days with her and Johannes at our dear Aunt Edwina's house. Nobody wanted to let me go alone, and our dear uncle Paul accompanied me on the train to Bremerhaven. And as the old saying goes that was also in my dear mother’s heart: "Adieu my dear home country, dear home country adieu"!
In the early morning hours of March 22, 1927, the huge colossus, the "SS Berlin," began to steam away. Only now did I realize what I had left behind, my fatherland, to which I had owed everything so far. - I went on deck at dawn, facing the coast. It lay far behind us, veiled in the mist of the fog – and so the ship steamed ahead on its course.
How could I ever find my way on this great steamer? My third-class cabin was deep inside, but still above the water level. The long corridors divided by bulkheads seemed endless to me. I had a cabin together with 3 young emigrants of my age. We soon got to know each other while we exchanged our previous experiences and adventures. –
How many diversions were offered here on board. Every day I got to know different, interesting people. During games, at the table, or in the salon, in the evening at the dance, and I watched how quickly friendships were formed in this small world, which led to happy unions for some in the "New World". There was for example little Adelheit T. with her friend who stayed in New York; she wrote me many a romantic letter for quite a while. –
Wonderful and beautiful days, but also stormy nights with rough sea were not missing, where the next morning only half of the "seaworthy passengers" appeared at the breakfast table. I bravely kept moving and appeared bravely at every meal at the announced hour. Here there was good food and a lot of interesting things to observe! For the not seaworthy there was only one way left - the sacrificial walk to "Father Neptune" at the railing!
What a wonderful feeling to stand at the outermost point of the stern or bow and watch the approaching breakers, which lifted the ship in changing rhythms, just to let it then sink back the next moment into the deepest depths of waves as high as a house. Again and again I ventured out onto the deck to admire this force of nature, this stormy sea; a captivating visual.
There in the West, deep below the horizon, where the sun lost its shine every evening, lay the future. Ten days had flown by and the next morning I was to arrive in New York. The ship had reached its destination, Brooklyn "New York", what a panorama was revealed here. The next hours passed with excitement and expectation. We lay in the harbor and it took time until all emigrants passed the immigration controls. Only a few were still on board and I surely would come ashore soon.
But the afternoon passed and nothing happened. Why this delay? I was almost the last one on board. What was that supposed to mean? What was the reason? I received no explanation. Were my papers not in order? At last! A travel agent brings me the message: "We have not yet received the money for the onward journey to S.F. We must try to get in touch with your brother.” What now? Wait until the mystery is solved and stay in New York until tomorrow?
I had another late dinner. This time first class, where only the agents and customs officers were left. In spite of all the beautiful food I had lost my appetite in the meantime. I was supposed to stay in a hotel and everything else would work out. My two suitcases stood next to me. Finally, the agent came to me again: "Mr. Ternow, we just received the telegraphic transfer for your tickets.” Did I hear right? "Yes, if we hurry we can catch the 10 o'clock train that leaves from Grand Central Station to Chicago and you can leave today.” With the nearest available cab, the agent took me to the station. What a chase, what excitement, always so much excitement. Why did this have to happen? With a hearty handshake and congratulations my agent said goodbye at the train.
I now had time to think about many things, about the "experiences", the first in the New World. It remained a mystery to me until today. – I soon found that there were other passengers from the ship in the compartment. I sat next to a friendly German-American woman from California.
She knew so much about America, about "country and people", customs and forms of politeness, - "Bohemian villages" for a "greenhorn" as I was among the fellow travelers. There was no lack of entertainment here. She continued her lectures into the night, until I sank into my armchair and found the necessary rest!
New York, this cosmopolitan city with its hustle and bustle was far behind me. The fleeting impressions of the evening, the sea of lights, were replaced the next morning by the view over the vast distances of this vast continent. The train took 24 hours to get to Chicago and 3 more days to get to California. In Chicago we had to change trains and my last acquaintances left the ship. Some of them would have liked to accompany me further, further to the dreamland "California". Among them, little Adelheit whom I had met again in the train. –
The further we went now, the more infinite the country seemed to me in its size. - The train crossed vast areas - the Indian Reservations, where just 100 years ago the indigenous people and their chiefs roamed the vast steppes of their homeland, where the herds of millions of Buffalos grazed and roamed, who were later completely exterminated by the "White Man". –
Here the stories came to mind - the pictures and descriptions from the magazines and books about Indians. Which boy did not like to read these stories during his school days. The battles of the Indians with the government troops, the settlers, and the ever increasing advance to the West. Then came the "Iron Horse", the railroad, which did its work and cut a path across the steppe, and from now on gave the land a different face. Where are the Buffalo herds now, the Indians, the indigenous people? They now live here and there in reservations assigned to them.
What vast and immeasurable landscape. Barren, long stretches, unpopulated and undeveloped. Hours pass until the train finally stops in a settlement again. How contradictory are the impressions here compared to my home country where everything is close together; where towns and villages are literally grown together.
Whenever the train stopped, I had the opportunity for a short walk, to keep my stiff limbs moving. What lonely and deserted settlements of the Midwest. The friendly German-American was always there with stimulating conversations; never tired of explanations and interesting conversations about what happened here in the "Wild West" among the first settlers. Here, they had their own customs, such as, for example, "that the gentleman always stays on the outside of the street in the company of a lady to protect her from possible assaults”. - I immediately knew what she meant - and changed positions to the other side!
Two high mountain passes that the train had to cross brought variety. The Rocky Mountains, and later the High Sierras, made an enormous impression. I could not take my eyes off these gigantic and dizzying heights, sometimes right, sometimes left; ruggedly sloping cliffs that the train climbed in a constant ascent. Three hissing diesel locomotives to amplify the otherwise normal energy power, had to do their utmost here until they reach the top at the "Thunder Pass". – This pass is also a historical highlight in the history of America. The first pioneers who wanted to reach California on this route got stuck here in the winter of 18-- in ice and storm with their covered wagons, and most of them died. –
How different today; I am sitting in a comfortable compartment of a modern train, equipped with all comforts, while the view involuntarily glides over to a monument built in memory of these brave men and women up here. Only some of them reached their destination then, the sunny valleys of the West – today, the most fertile areas of California.
The train rushes through small villages, down the valley, the first palm trees of the south line the streets here and there. It is not far now, soon we reach the next town, it is the capital Sacramento. A last, short stop, then only a few hours and the destination, the city at the Golden Gate, was not far away. Helmut would definitely be at the train station - so the thoughts went through my head.
A few minutes had passed, the train was already moving again. I looked up! – And suddenly, there, he truly stands before me! What a joyful surprise of the reunion! I would never have thought it. He had used the early train to meet me already on the trip. What a joy to see a trusted friend and brother again. For him, too, it was a happy experience to know a piece of the old home country in close proximity.
1685 Sutter Street became my permanent residence for a number of years. A small furnished room overlooking an inconspicuous back garden with flowering geranium bushes climbing up a fence; a splendor that could only be found at home in small flower pots on mother's windowsill. Helmut's room was next door. The McManaman family - grandmother, mother and daughter - lived in the lower part of the small house. 2 captain's widows who took care of the household. –
Three days later I found work, very close by, at an interior decoration company, just a few minutes away from my apartment. It turned out that I met a number of German comrades here in this company that was run by 4 partners: Martin, Schmidt, Lengfeld and Baldauf.
Apartments
1685 Sutter St. Mrs. McManamann S.F.
402 Cole St. Mrs. Dykhnizen S.F.
485 Douglass St. Rudolf Mordhorst S.F.
4356 – 18th St. Arthur Robinson S.F.
528 – 4th Ave Keith Harvy San Bruno
56 Church St. Keith Harvy S.F.
Business Addresses
1505 Sutter St. A.F. Marten Co S.F.
344 – 6th St. S.W. Ternow S.F.
310 – 7th St. S.W. Ternw S.F.
English Translation – part 2 (pages 1 – 39)
A year and a half had passed since my last visit to my homeland. And again I was seized with great longing, especially since Helmut had invited me to his wedding. It came a bit sudden, and unfortunately I could not attend the ceremony. Nevertheless, I decided to go at the end of April ‘39. And so it left again happily towards home, this time with the beautiful fast steamer "Bremen". How happy they all were and especially mother, she did not have to wait so long this time.
But what was one of the main reasons for my so sudden trip to Germany? I wanted to try my luck once again. This time, I had to find the "right one" who was meant for me! A faithful girl as I saw her since last year before my inner eye through many dear letters and greeting cards.
We had made an appointment; and so it happened. - Braubock on the Rhine was to be the meeting place. I reached Koblenz, and from here it was ony a short distance upstream by steamer. How cheerful it was on board - wine and song - it was not so long ago that I had experienced the same cheerfulness. But this time I had a goal! I wanted to find a "treasure", which was hidden in the "Felsenkeller", an inn in the shadow of the old knights' castle - the Marksburg! There the castle stood, proudly up high on the mountain, and greeted me. And there I was, how fast the steamer stopped. There, I picked up my suitcase, the bell sounded "departure". No, that was impossible! And there the steamer left again, at a brisk pace, over to the other bank of the river and on to the next village. - How could I have missed my destination? Now I had to get out. Waiting impatiently at the railing, I was now the first to jump ashore; I reached my destination, a little late, but without further incidence.
I stayed in a pretty inn "Zum Kaiserhoch" where I took a room. Where was the Felsenkeller? - A nice walk through the main street of this beautiful medieval town and the big archway led my way uphill. A little further to the right and I was standing in front of an old but inviting inn with large letters "Zum Felsenkeller". So this is where she stayed - would I be expected? I enter, full of expectation, and inquire. "Miss Busch is not here at the moment, but will be back soon", should I wait here? No, there is a nice short walk through a flowering chestnut alley up to the castle. What a small romantic town this is; a beautiful view from above, and further, over the mighty river. It was beautiful here indeed. And so, full of a slight excitement, excitement and expectation, paying less attention to the blossoming nature around me than just following the one thought - is it her or isn't it - I stood again in front of the gate of the Felsenkeller. Ms. Busch, who had also returned from a walk, was in.
What thoughts moved two human children at such a moment, when they suddenly stood opposite each other in friendly greeting? Words fail and cannot describe it. So that was Gerda. Yes, first a slow exploration and getting to know each other, the first friendly and at the same time thoughtful and exploratory looks that moved from one to the other and tried to look into the heart of the one opposite. - Is it really her, or just a dream?
We spent the evening at the Kaiserhof. There was a cheerful atmosphere. Now she knew what this globetrotter looked like, how he presented himself and behaved. Would we really understand each other "at an already advanced age of 31 years"? Was here the girl I had wished and hoped for? The first afternoon and evening could not decide that. Anyway, Miss Busch was a lovely girl, even if not – let’s say ‘a beauty’ like the "dolls" you saw “playing around” in the USA. Here was a character hidden, somebody who knew exactly what she wanted. – In general, she might have been a bit too sheltered by her home life, after all, she was the only daughter, but that had its advantages.
A Christian faith, a good upbringing, love of nature; I soon noticed that there was a common understanding between the two of us. And there, that mischievous look that soon - very soon, revealed more to me; when the dark brown eyes could no longer stand up to mine and suddenly, with an embarrassed yet so interesting back and forth rolling, tried to hide something! - What must have gone through her little head! I remember these encounters very well. It had to be something deeper and more familiar, and I liked her very much. – I confess, it was not the falling in love at first sight. This feeling was hidden deeper and took its time to unfold into full clarity.
I now moved into the Felsenkeller inn. Here we dined together daily and explored the surroundings on hikes along the Rheinhöhenweg hiking trail. A time full of sunny days followed; one afternoon, the path led us through vineyards on the mountain slopes to an abandoned bower covered with vines. - Wasn't it there on the mossy bench where we sat down when our hearts opened wide and “Miss Gerda” became a radiantly smiling "Gerdchen", with a golden heart and a "lock of hair" hidden in it? - Yes that was a wonderful time.
We belonged together, it was meant to be, and life and the future shone in golden happiness. God had led our paths in such a wonderful way until here. Although there were still many difficulties to be overcome that we could not have known about at that time. I recognized it as a coincidence from above that took place in my life.
The vacation came to an end; Gerdchen had to think about the journey home. Our trip led us together as far as Cologne. Then our ways separated. Goodbye! The goodbye was not easy. Half a day lay ahead of us and the city of Cologne offered so much that we were still allowed to see and experience together. One train after the other in the direction of Wuppertal left the city without Gerdchen. It became later and later, the parting became more difficult - too difficult. "Soon we will see each other again" was the last greeting, and the 10 o'clock train disappeared in the darkness of the night.
"Another happy time followed 8 weeks later in the Harz Mountains. Here in Wernigerode, this charmingly situated health resort town, there was nothing that could have disturbed our happiness. Our rooms were located in a private house on a mountain slope with a view into the distance, and we went on daily hikes on many a path that I still remembered. But how much nicer it was this time, with a beloved girl at my side.
Up over hill and dale. - Yes, wandering through life into the wide, wide world beyond! How differently everything shone, how bathed in new light, nature lay before us and more beautiful, with every experience, the following days - the world - became for two happy people. - But our goal for perfect happiness was still a long way off - so for the time being we had to wait patiently until our common steps led us there.
These short vacations of happiness, enjoyment and learning to understand each other passed too quickly and the farewell on the last day - who knew when we would meet again - was unforgettably difficult, with regard to the future, for both of us. – A last kiss, a farewell, a wave from the window. - To the West the train rolled. - There I stood, abandoned, lonely, until it vanished from view. Then the next express train came, speeding eastward, back to Silesia. –
Uncertain, exciting, oppressive sultriness weighed over everything. The dark clouds on the political horizon of the East took on threatening forms. Too much had happened since Hitler's "seizure of power", which began with the reoccupation of the Rhineland. And the last event, the annexation of Austria, had caused great unease among the heads of state of Europe and America. There was still a calm - the silence before the storm that would soon shake the world view in all its fugues. The eastern situation looked very precarious. Was there still hope for a way out? A pressure of uncertainty weighed on everything.
I, too, could no longer free myself from it. A time of restlessness came over me, a feeling of inner conflict as I had never experienced before. It became clear to me that I lived in two worlds, and I alone could decide where I belonged! Should I stay here and give up all my relationships with my second home and wait and see what happens here? Where could I even think of pitching a safe tent here for two happy people? Thousands of questions went through my mind that neither I nor anybody else could answer. - I had to come to a decision. - It was my most difficult decision. - Back to California.
I left home for the third time. This time it was harder than ever, because I left a dear girl behind. How long - how long? Could I even know when we would meet again? On July 17, ’39, again on the high seas on the SS Bremen. The atmosphere on board was not as I was used to. The most impossible stories were told; what could you believe? Was war the last resort after the collapse of diplomatic negotiations between peoples? It was not yet there. After a few days, the SS Bremen docked in the port of New York. And after a 2-day stay and visit of our former neighbor Galles in New York, I continued on the train journey, which always seemed so endless to me, back to S.F. This time I was tired and inwardly full of restlessness.
After my short absence of 4 months, I found a substantially changed picture here as well. In my field of work it did not look promising. Gus Franks had shared his business interests with another young artist and thus, had brought about a complete change in our joint activity. I had not expected this. We parted ways. – From now on, I could act as I pleased and I did not feel obliged to anybody. The main part of my work remained successful, even though a lot changed.
I felt everywhere the tension, an uncertain waiting, a nervous anxiety, like on a beautiful hot August day before the outbreak of an ominous thunderstorm. And then it happened. This 3rd of August 1939, the beginning of the Second World War, was to completely change a peaceful world view. The news of the Blitzkrieg, the invasion of Poland by the German armies. The reports from Europe were coming in rapid succession. The Allies issued an ultimatum to Hitler and demanded an immediate withdrawal of troops from Poland - or declaration of war! – Three days of extreme tension. News and special reports, one overtook the other. France - England - was it to come to this point and expand into the greatest tragedy in world history?
There was still a pale glimmer, a faint glow of last hope. Hitler's armies had already penetrated deep into Poland towards Warsaw. A last call in 12 hours fell on deaf ears. – And thus, this August day became a historic, unforgettable one in the history of the world. - From now on, events happened rapidly from day to day. The peoples of the earth were no longer at peace. This war, with all the sufferings, wounds and destruction that followed in its wake, began to shake the world in all its fugues.
1939
There were no limits to Hitler's madness.
It was a sunny morning, midsummer weather. I was just on my way downtown towards the corner of Market and Paul Street. A central point in the midst of the colorful, busy hustle and bustle of never-ending traffic, as typical here as anywhere else in a metropolis. Once again the paperboys were screaming at the top of their lungs like a choir "Extra, Extra!” What could it be this time? "War - war - war declared against Germany!"
Unbelievable! Impossible! So after all! I felt as if someone had dealt me a blow. - My senses were spinning. I was staggering like a drunk among excited people. Where was I? I saw people with frozen expressions on their faces - everyone who did not know it yet or had not yet heard it on the radio wanted to read it in the special edition. Clear thoughts had come to a standstill in my mind. - Was now the last glimmer of my hope gone? In vain - what one had hoped for, longed for. The demands for an armistice had finally failed. This most horrendous thing took its course, could no longer be averted! War broke out all over Europe.
And so weeks and months followed, filled with news that put every German abroad into a nightmare. And how quickly the mood of a people changed amidst a well-organized propaganda that did not stop from doing everything to keep the people in a state of frenzy. Oh, how clearly this smear campaign now became visible, especially with the interests of the "war and arms industry" as a background. A golden age was now dawning for them. – The more destruction, the greater the upswing to greatness, wealth and power - crowned by the almighty dollar. - A man had to be blind and deaf not to recognize where it all would lead.
The Germans of America, whether citizens or not, had to endure this storm. The hatred against the "German Barbarians" showed no consideration. To defend oneself against this assault was futile and would only have had worse consequences.
Germany still had diplomatic relations with the Unites States. But it did not help. The voices were becoming louder, the inflammatory articles of the time increased. General conscription became law and became fully effective upon registration. Every young German had to expect one day, possibly in the not too distant future, to go to war against his own brothers. This thought alone was constantly on my mind, was something mentally grueling - I had not foreseen this or ever thought I would be put in this position.
A war between the States and the Third Reich now seemed inevitable. Had I placed my bet on the wrong horse? "Do not stay here under any circumstances" was the thought that would not let me rest day or night. A travel ban to every warring country in Europe now also came into effect. My passport was invalid. At the most, there might be the possibility to return to the Reich via Italy.
I contacted a company to take over the import of antique furniture from over there. Time passed, the plan matured, when suddenly Italy was also standing as an "Axis partner" at Germany's side in the middle of the war, thus destroying the last bridge back across the Atlantic for me.
The European theater of war expanded further and further! What did the non-aggression pact between Russia and the Third Reich mean that was suddenly signed by Stalin and Hitler? Was there now for me a way to Europe via the far east of Russia, Siberia? I had heard about it! But this thought seemed to me too fantastic and unbelievable.
A sultry atmosphere lay over everything, but so far, everything was still running its usual course. – After all, it turned out that there was still hope for a return to the fatherland in case the war would last for years. America still stood apart from all the wrestling in Europe. For how long? It was only a question of time that America would decide one way or the other. - The die had long been cast behind the curtains in the White House whether or not to intervene in the war. They were only waiting for a favorable and appropriate opportunity, a deception to justify such a decision to the people. Careful propaganda was running at full speed and made sure that this was done.
In this turbulent time of confusion, the German Association offered the only refuge, like a quiet oasis, where we tried to keep up the atmosphere and the usual German Gemütlichkeit. At our weekly meetings, the German songs still resounded in the choir and the one or other bottle of wine made us forget and helped us to free ourselves from the pressure that was otherwise on everything.
The first German ships, including the passenger ship "Columbus" were already in the Eastern ports and the crews were interned. The crew of the Columbus was to be transferred to S.F., at least that is what was said! - Indeed, there they were, after only a few weeks. We were soon allowed to welcome them to the German club and entertain them! - This often happened at the weekend, when they were allowed to leave the Angel Island camp. - Some friendly relations were quickly established. They had so much to tell us about the events of their last trip from home. There were the officers, officer cadets, technicians, and ship engineers. We soon called them our regular guests. They all hoped for a quick return home. But how? At the time, the picture was rather hopeless, little hope for a quick end to this miserable war; although in France, after the invasion, the occupation by the German armies soon came to a halt.
It did not fail to happen that, due to the war events that broke out so suddenly, many people missed the connection for the return journey to their homeland. Many an interesting experience was reported by a familiar German travel agent. Everyone had a different plan. It gave me a new view (of the possibilities) that I had not considered before. – I learned a lot about things that only a consul or a diplomat knew how to avoid or how to remove obstacles. With this connection, a path slowly appeared in front of me that would lead to my goal. I managed to obtain an alien's passport. I became "stateless" and thus, a way was open for everything that would happen. And so, with new confidence, I could now prepare further things calmly and with careful deliberation.
Rudi and Marta were the only faithful here who knew of my plans. During the last weeks I lived in their nice home. It was a "home" of refuge. Coziness and warmth poured out here and helped to overcome many problems and difficulties in this most difficult time.
Yes, there was still a possibility to return to the homeland despite many obstacles. Finally the time had come and I could convey this development of my situation to my loved ones who were waiting at home. Because of an already strong censorship and the opening of the mail to Germany, caution was required. But the main thing, a regular airmail service, was still in place. – There was a dear girl that was waiting with excitement for any news, even if, for the time being, there was almost no chance to see her again soon.
Her picture on my little table, the faithful look in her eyes – every time I looked at this picture, it gave me new courage and strengthened my belief that everything would turn out well. The belief in the future, yes, that my life is led by the One who rules over us from up there. Was it not He who helped me now as so often before? Was it not a proof of how good advice and loyalty, despite all obstacles and unforeseeable difficulties, led everything to the best in my life?
The summer of 1940, full of world-shattering events, was behind us. Autumn with its fast parting, a colorful glow in nature, a quiet dying and last breath was above all. And here, in the war, in world affairs, the last flicker of reason, the last hope and all efforts that could have otherwise led to the unification of the peoples, once again was extinguished.
In the meantime, I had quietly taken care of several issues in preparation, including the first down payment for my finally fixed travel plan across the Orient, Russia, Siberia - halfway around the world. October 24 was set as a fixed date for my travel plan. The Japanese flagship "Asama Maru" was to leave the port of San Francisco on that day. It was a beautiful passenger ship that regularly crossed the Pacific Ocean from Japan.
Everything went well so far. Two heavy suitcases, packed, they were checked in separately. An exit permit from the tax office - always important - and more importantly, the tickets that for now were up to Yokohama, were securely stored in my coat pocket. And so I went on board on this memorable day.
I had to say farewell to my dear friends, the old faithful ones. The last greetings and a farewell. The landing stage disappeared. The long, colorful ribbons fluttered through the air and came loose - the harbor was a familiar place after all these years of professional activity. I knew every passenger ship that passed through here. Especially the Robert Dollar Fleet, here, where every Friday one of these steamships set course for the West.
Today, I myself was one of those who stood at the railing. Once again the "Fare well!" sounded from over there and then, first slowly, then faster, the steaming heartbeat of the engines began, and amidst the stunning roar of the sirens, like three cheers, the last greeting from land disappeared.
Was it a parting forever from this continent? At that time, I was almost convinced of it. - How much was hidden here in these past years – much good and many evil things had come with the time. Whatever lay behind, it had enriched my life tremendously. America, it remained the land of unlimited possibilities.
The thoughts, they wandered back again, as so often when we reach the next milestone in our lives. I walked slowly, like a devout person, fully filled with all that I had experienced here in the past, towards my assigned cabin. - In this labyrinth of long corridors and steep stairs, it was no wonder that I only got to my new quarters after quite some time and detours.
I could hardly believe my eyes when I entered the cabin. Here, as well as next door, it was loud and lively. Was I in the right cabin? Did I not know this one and that one? There, the familiar faces, the German language, was it reality? I could hardly believe my eyes and ears. – What was going on here? Were those not our "regulars" that I was allowed to welcome to the German club just last week? And now here, what a surprise of a sudden reunion! There stood the German officers of the interned crew of the SS Columbus. Questions and answers were superfluous at the moment - only astonishment! They had achieved it. So that was it- in calm perseverance and silence they succeeded in doing what would otherwise not have been possible for a German interned officer – to return to the Reich. The latter would be a valuable reserve for the war of the Wehrmacht and the fleet. - And there, how did the other young lads get on board the ship? "They were our porters," it was said to me with a smiling face. "They will stay on board with us!" And so the case was closed.
Thus, in a short time on this sea voyage, a small, closed community of about 16 fellow travelers was formed, among them a Dr. from Austria - an officer, a landowner and his wife from East Prussia - stranded in the USA, who finally took the opportunity to make a long detour to return home.
The crossing via Honolulu to Yokohama went smoothly and without incident. However, in the state of war (and especially at the beginning of the submarine warfare) surprises were to be expected. - It was well known that submarines were already lurking near all the busy sea routes and were sighted even further away. As I learned later, a submarine of the US fleet had accompanied us for several days. It took the same course. What was the reason? Japan and the States were - for now and until after the incident at Pearl Harbor - still neutral in the war, which was soon to spread further around the world.
Land came into sight. An always welcome moment. Yokohama, home port of the "A. Maru", was soon reached. A harbor I had gotten to know well during my most recent adventures. In Tokyo, I stayed for a week in a hotel close to the Imperial Palace, where travelers and transients were catered for in every comfort.
The first sign of life, a telegram, was sent from here with greetings to the homeland – “Landed in Japan!”
A lot had to be done for the continuation of the journey, and the German consulate provided an exemplary service and was always available to answer any questions. To be on the safe side, the suitcases had to be provided with a crate for further transport especially through Russia; things I had not thought of.
The biggest part of the journey was still ahead of me. So it was advisable to check everything once again. The passport, all personal data for which the consulate was responsible. Also the tickets through Russia could be picked up at the consulate in Yokohama. - There, a new problem suddenly appeared. "You cannot possibly travel through the Soviet Union with a foreigner's passport," I was told. What now? "Come back next Friday, we will issue you a German Reich-passport." It took a load off my mind to know that everything would be taken care of. And so, shortly before the start of my next leg of the journey, I received a new passport for unhindered travel through the Soviet Union. – Now everything was cleared up. We compared our passports – but then Mr. Babbi asked me if there wasn’t a signature missing. Had something been missed? Yes, they had! Was it an oversight on the part of the authorities or was it of no essential importance? Surely everything was in order...
The next day, the journey continued by train. My stay in Tokyo was over. In the meantime, we had also learned what had happened on the high seas shortly before we landed in Yokohama. - An exciting report, especially for some of the German officers when they heard about it. Soon after departure from San Francisco, it was officially noticed who was aboard the 'Asama Moru' - fugitive, interned German officers! It was even in the press the following day after our departure. Thus, a last-minute attempt to put an end to this escape had been given careful consideration. - Too late! It did not succeed. – Japan, in a neutral state, showed no interest or support for such a coup and called it off. Another attempt to restrain the escapees in Tokyo also failed. Thus, the journey continued smoothly and without disturbance for most of the "interned crew".
The train ride through Japan was quite varied. One village followed the other in this densely populated island world. A hard-working people; always in the national consciousness were the achievements they have accomplished in the last century.
Hiroshima was passed by train. One after the other - small and large cities and industrial centers. Who would have thought at the time that the decision to end this enormous war of nations would be made here, when the first atomic bomb on August 6, 1945, triggered an unprecedented wave of destruction over this city, killing over 30,000 people in one fell swoop.
Shimonoseki, a small port city on the northwest coast of the Sea of Japan, opposite the mainland of the Asian continent, became the last stop on this lively island world. I would have loved to stay here a little longer to see more of the country and its people and its ancient culture, the old temples; almost on every hill one can find the buildings of the Buddha or Shinto religion.
The crossing to Korea (currently still under Japanese rule) took only a few hours. I reached Busan. A short stay of one day, and then I went on with the Express, a modern equipped train, through South and North Korea. A people of their own, small in stature, slit eyes, betray the descent from an ancient Mongolian race. Eyes that never betray what their character is hiding inside. The climate in the southern part is very pleasant; fertile plantations of mandarins and other citrus fruits extended far over a hilly terrain. The capital Seoul was soon reached. - At that time there was still peace and quiet here. Communism had not yet stretched out its greedy arm to this country.
The further north, the cooler it became. Snow for the end of November in the north of the country is also not uncommon. Unfortunately, I had not prepared myself for this change. At the border crossing to Manchuria there was already a degree of cold, completely unfamiliar to a southerner, a resident of sunny California. - It got even worse when I reached Harbin. Snow and ice and the Siberian cold of the north had no mercy on me. The overnight stay here in a hotel with frozen toilets and whatever came with it, left me not with the best impressions. And the train continued, hissing, northwards and finally reached the border station Manzhouli, Siberia, USSR. – And Berlin was still a whole continent away.
Manzhouli
Siberia! I was on Russian territory. I was received by border officials and two "Intouristas"*5 who were assigned to our group from here on and were supposed to take care of our "well-being" and everything else that followed. It did not take long and we could tell from the sentences of their broken English that our journey here was to experience an unpleasant interruption for the time being. " A stay" - why, what for?
Had I understood correctly? - Hard to believe – we were told that there had been a "plague" outbreak in Manchuria. Why hadn't we learned of this swindle before? And now I was to be suspected of having introduced the plague into Russia. 14 days quarantine, 14 days stay, they said, for further observation! We were assigned 3 sleeping cars for our quarantine.
But first, I had to undergo a thorough disinfecting bath. No outrage or protest served any purpose here or could avoid this. Outside it was bitterly cold. The thermometer showed minus 30°C. A primitively furnished room was intended for this purpose. Everything resembled more a delousing station. In an anteroom I was told to "take everything off", and my cloths disappeared likewise for this alleged disinfection (i.e. examination). Only the toiletries for the most makeshift use remained. Everything, even the luggage, we were told, goes through this process of "thorough cleaning". No part was spared here that was not turned inside out and examined.
With what should I dress myself in the meantime? - Finally, having escaped this hot, stinking bath of chemicals, everyone received a bundle of clothes, a thin robe, like a night dress. Dressed in these scanty clothes, it was now time to march through the icy cold outside into the cars, to our quarantine stay. At the moment I was frozen to ice. No wonder what followed in the next days. - What kind of deserted place was I in? What was the meaning of all this? Russia - where was the workers' paradise? –
The windows in the car in which I tremblingly found refuge from the cold, were heavily iced, hardly a view at the desolation out there. - A pack of half-wild pigs seemed to be running wild and free, unlike us. A pile of left behind, partially torn bags of grain – opposite our wagons - was a real treat for the pigs. Who took care of such things here? Very soon we also received our first rations. Very good food even! A miracle! Dark bread topped with ham, as good as is only known in Westphalia, and tea from the "Samovar". The Russian loves it sweet.
A nice female doctor was also on the spot, who regularly took care of everyone in the morning and in the evening. The temperatures were measured religiously. To my horror, I developed a strong cold after this first "Siberian walk in light night dress", as I had already suspected I would. Unfortunately, it turned into a bad cold and persistent fever. I became afraid I would get stuck in this mess. Days went by. I tried as best I could to hide this miserable condition by having the thermometer always show "normal condition", especially in the evening. After all, there were tricks! It got better and everything turned out well, and I could be thankful from my heart that I had been saved from a worth fate.
A new transport was supposed to arrive in the next few days, we were told one evening, and we could then - with the condition "healthy" (no suspicion of plague) be released immediately. We were lucky that the announced transport arrived earlier than planned. Although we did not get in touch with the passengers, we recognized them. They were the last remaining people from Tokyo, who now had to obey the same orders because of suspicion of plague. However, two attachés from the German embassy also arrived and would travel on with us "without a stay", and also two “Intouristas” who "kept us company" as constant companions on our journey through Russia. I also learned more about the failed internment attempt back in Tokyo. Fortunately, that was behind me. What would come next?
Finally, after 10 days of persevering in this desolate situation, there was movement again, the transport continued. The incessant, rattling beat of the wheels - it sounded like music this time. I sat in the Siberian Express, overcome by a relieved feeling; sighed a new breath of relief. Finally, onward! The train rushed through endless steppes, then again through impenetrable forests. Loneliness lay over the whole thing. The miserable huts at each station tried to liven up the bleak picture a bit. Pitiful nests; who could live here in this desolation? Siberia, much had already been written about it. It remains the tragedy of the Russian people. The impoverishment, as once under the rule of the tsars - never ending. And so the misery of the millions, condemned under the slave rule of the brutal communism that existed since the beginning of the revolution of 1918, continues to the present day.
How do these people live here? They vegetate. Thousands had never known it any other way. You could feel it when you saw the poor creatures that appeared every now and then when the train stopped. Faces without expressions stared at me and offered their meager goods to the passengers. A roasted chicken or whatever the current season offered in agricultural products. This often repeated itself. There were always armed guards standing close by, or walking up and down with a watchful eye and hand on a rifle with bayonets attached. One finally got used to this sight. For decades Russia had been waging its own war inside the country, against all the laws of free human rights. - Nobody could free himself from this feeling.
For the most part, the train was occupied by soldiers. There were always some who were understandably interested in us foreigners. When the air was "clear", that meant that they felt unobserved by others or, even worse, an Intourista, then one of them came too gladly into my compartment to find out what happened on the other side of the border. And so we told him. But what he knew and could tell us was very little. One noticed very soon that everything that was spoken here was part of one and the same scheme. Was it the Marxist education or rather the fear of an always lurking - "enemy is listening" - that never really let to a real conversation? The shadow of an “ever present listener” accompanied me from the beginning until the end of this 10-day trip through Russia and never disappeared.
Everyone had already had to hand in their passport at the border station in Otpor, with the explanation that it would be safer this way and we would of course get it back when leaving the USSR! Thus, every traveler was with body and soul in the hands of an unpredictable state system. This rule alone explained much. Even the slightest deviation from our prescribed itinerary would have been the individual's undoing.
I soon learned more about it, this in conversation with our 2 accompanying diplomats from the German Embassy in Tokyo. We visited each other in our train compartments. For them, this trip was not a special event. - Rather routine since the war broke out. They were more attuned to the circumstances and better informed and could give us news that only a few knew, things that were only suspected; they could give us explanations in many a highly interesting conversation.
They too had their rules. The luggage they carried was guarded every second by one or the other, never letting it out of their sight. For a trip through Russia this was certainly not an easy task.
I thought of the morning when I first boarded the train. My two small suitcases were still outside while almost everything else was already on the train. I got off quickly to pick them up myself. But I had hardly bent down to grab a handle, when a bayonet of the post already flashed at me. “Stop!” He shouts in Russian. I jumped back into the car and could almost feel the bayonet between my ribs. To hell with the luggage, I thought; now come what may. How could I dare to go against an alleged order! And so, very soon, everyone was taught how to follow instructions, one way or another.
How many times a day the windows of the compartment were darkened. There were certainly great military secrets that the train raced past with frozen windows. What could I observe? Lake Baikal, one of the largest in the East, which we drove along for hours, was monotonous like everything else - a deserted, endless expanse, frozen in deep hibernation.
Only further, closer to the West, the world started to revive! Cities appeared on the scene, Novosibirsk, Omsk - almost in the center -, followed by Sverdlovsk, a vast industrial city with mines, smelting plants, factories, like the Ruhr. And finally, another good day's journey further on, Moscow was reached. Here we were supposed to stay for 2 days. That was fine with me, that was the opportunity to visit the capital of communism.
We stayed at the Hotel Metropol, opposite the opera house, one of the grand, old buildings from the time of the Tsars, feudal in old tradition, precious in the execution of long gone times; here was a highlight, a new picture in front of my eyes after all the primitiveness of the last weeks! - Old and used, however, was all that one could see. The old, heavily faded plush curtains in front of the windows, the high, ornament-decorated ceilings, worn carpets, the bed, one lay as if in a deep hollow, in addition the old-fashioned smell, and the thought that behind one or the other curtain a hidden ear may be listening, reinforced my feelings of silence "the enemy is always listening!” - Rightly so it was said. Be careful at every step, for without a passport or identity card, any movement in public among the people was a risk, and contact was practically impossible. (This was strongly avoided). Despite this restriction I was out and about most of the time.
Moscow
Dr. Battl, an entomologist, was very interested in one of the famous museums for insect collections and research work here. It is well known that museum visits take a lot of time. Short, but highly interesting were many of our visits, as far as they were possible. Even if we did not dare to join the long queue of people in front of the mausoleum "Lenin in a glass coffin", the huge square of the Kremlin, the old buildings, the orthodox church with its onion domes. One hears so much about the famous subway and the stations paneled with artistic mosaics. The big department stores with goods for the people, where were they? It was a real pity, and many other things could not escape observation.
In the evening, we all dined together in a large hall of the Metropol, and were served a little off to the side. I was able, as I always like to do, to pursue my studies among the other guests. Mostly the military was represented, the higher officer class, easily recognizable with their medal-laden uniforms, and the elite of the party comrades of the KPD. So there they were, gathered in this "classless state," the paradise of the worker. - Here they drank and indulged in "vodka and caviar"! - Dance and music. It was December 9, a holiday? A wonderful, bubbling fountain in the center of all this entertainment was also the water where carp and trout swam their last laps. The one or the other, as desired, was then carefully removed from that fountain with a net. Fidgeting, in a silver vessel, you could see the chef walking with it to the kitchen.
The last stretch, a day's journey to Merkine border station - demarcation line, somewhere in the middle of a Poland, devastated by the "Blitzkrieg", went smoothly, thanks to the constant company of the 2 Intouristas. I eagerly awaited the moment to arrive in the German part of occupied Poland.
Moscow and its towers disappeared on the horizon. The evening broke early. No one could tell us where Markine actually was. The border, where two powers negotiated the robbery of a country. - Two deadly enemies, fascism and communism, had joined hands there not too long ago in a friendly alliance.
It was getting late. Then, just before midnight, they said: "We will be there soon”. Everything was ready. Only the passports were to be handed over. The first one, then the next one received theirs. Everything was in order, one after the other (in the train compartment). Now it was my turn. After some tense minutes the usual question "What is your name? Where do you come from? How old are you? What is your profession?" Then a short silence. "Your Pass is invalid!" and with that the figure disappeared in the dark. –
What did that mean? - Here at last. I stood there like petrified and my thoughts were racing. Was there a misunderstanding? What was going to happen? As a last resort there were 2 German diplomats on board with whom I could have talked. Hardly ten minutes later the agent came back. - Similar questions and answers. I felt queasy. What had led to this disastrous situation, like an interrogation? I was beginning to suspect something. "Write down your name!" was the latest command. I did as well as I could in this nervous state. With that he disappeared for the second time. Would I ever see my passport again? Or, for that matter, my homeland, after all that was already behind me? These and other thoughts raced through my brain at the moment. Then the door to the compartment opened for the third time and again two figures entered. "Are you Herr Ternow?" is the question in broken English? - A sharp look. - Here is your passport!!! - Everything that nobody had noticed before when looking at my passport had happened in the end (the lack of one signature)!
Slowly the train rolled to the final station Merkine! Everybody out!!! This time, nobody cared about the luggage anymore, "do it yourself". I stepped outside into the night and fog, then walked on to the border crossing, then to the control. German officers of the security police received us. All papers were quickly processed. The express train that was supposed to take us on to Berlin was already waiting. Finally, it was done. The train was to leave very early in the morning. - I suddenly woke up and only now realized that we were already on the road for many hours. I have never slept so well as after this small demonstration of nerve-racking Russian interrogation.
The train reached Warsaw; the first pictures of war, a picture of devastation and horror presented itself here in all its dimensions. Poznan followed. The ruins spoke of a similar devastation; the madness of this war. It was evening. Almost every village lay veiled in darkness, to protect itself from air-raids. - Then the first suburbs of Berlin arrived - and then the final station Friedrichstr. – finally on German soil!
Here a last, a firm handshake, a serious look and well wishes for an uncertain future. We had become more familiar with each other through all the past experiences. Whether one of us would see the other again? Dark was the future ahead of us, and in darkness our capital was veiled. - Many an isolated bombing raid had already shaken the city, leaving behind its marks of rubble and ashes.
I sent a telegram to Mother that I would arrive in Bunzlau the next morning. The next train left very late in the evening. This gave me time to visit my dearest aunt "Wienchen" in Neukölln; the first joyful reunion with a dear person. How many times since my earliest youth have I so gladly stayed here. This time it was my shortest visit. She had always cared for me as faithfully as a second mother.
And now only one more night; in the early morning I wanted to be at home. - There she stood, dear mommy! -She was standing in the station when the train arrived. "My boy! Is that you?" I can still today hear her voice. What a reunion!
But someone else was waiting for me. A dear girl in Wuppertal! Three days at my mom's home and again the suitcase was packed and ready, and on December 14th I left for the Rhineland. What a day of joy, happiness and reunion! What was hardly believable, hardly to be expected. The firm faith and many a faithful prayer made a great wish of life come true. I got to know Gerdchen's parents, two dear people, and a dear old grandmother; they all held my Gerdchen firmly in their love. But now I had come, and the very next day we celebrated our engagement. Happy days full of joy and bliss followed. Then I went the long way back to Silesia to the "cold home"; that's what she would call it later.
At the consulate in Yokohama, when I was handed my papers, I was clearly told: "So, you are a stateless person, this new German passport is only valid for your journey across Russia. As soon as you arrive, you will report to your local authorities as a “German living abroad” and will be issued a foreigner's passport for the rest of your stay.”
I came back to my old home country and should now, in a city that has been so familiar to me since childhood in regard to everything, and where I knew everybody, suddenly be treated as a "stranger"? - These were strange laws. Should I keep quiet? Should I just keep the old passport when I would go to register? After all, who would ask if I was a stateless person?
In this case, however, it was clear to me that if I would keep my German passport, then the Wehrmacht's call to report for duty would be in the mailbox very shortly. – At some point I had to expect this. But why provoke such a call so early, there would be plenty of time for this later. There was still so much to do. My furniture, the store, the apartment, and the main thing - we wanted to get married. So I decided to follow the advice of the consulate and registered as a stateless person again.
This very quickly had completely new consequences. A party official appeared and declared: "Mr. T., you have to report to the police office here once a week starting January 1; personally speaking, a purely routine matter, etc. You know what I mean. We do know you, after all!" – “What nonsense”, I thought. “But go ahead and have your fun”, and obeyed the invitation. And this way I started to settle anew in my old home. - I was a foreigner, maybe "a spy", who had to be watched!
Being a foreigner brought other problems to light. There was a law for the "preservation of a pure race", it was written in the book "Mein Kampf" and became a law under Hitler. And this also applied to Mr. Ternow, born in Eberswalde near Berlin, to German parents, grandparents and great-grandparents! I assumed that this ancestral family tree was sufficient. – And look, a miracle! Eight weeks later this important document and the official "Permission for a marriage with Miss Bush" was in my hand. – But we were far from having accomplished our goal. Again the law read: "With the marriage between a 'foreigner' and a German girl she loses her German citizenship! Could one expect this of a German girl? - A new "grave decision". - Love had the last word. What were the poet's words? "And yet I, a hard man, felt love deeply!" - Love, it remained the driving force despite many disappointments and obstacles that led me back around the globe in the course of 18 months to a happy reunion.
Full of new tasks and plans for the future, I soon found myself very busy. The company for furniture construction and the store at the Friedrichstr. had been closed long ago. Johannes, father of 4 children, had been drafted months ago to the air force division of air defense; there were no more exceptions.
I used the time, reopened the business, and was able to make my own furniture, one by one for our future home. A complete kitchen with everything and a bedroom in Finnish birch, hand polished in silver-grey. It turned out first class and was widely admired. - The apartment for it was still missing though. Despite many new buildings, there was a shortage of housing everywhere. It could take years before I could expect to be assigned an apartment by the housing office. The fight for "victory and peace" was more important and required the commitment of all forces. The lack of an apartment was still the smallest sacrifice that I could make.
Most men fought at the front. At home one had to cope without them, and I soon felt "very strange" to be still here as a healthy young man. "Mr. Ternow, do you still work at the shop?" This question often sounded in my ears! – From friends, even on the street. Who was still walking around in civilian clothes when all you could see were uniforms? - I suspected that it would not go on like this for long. "You are lucky, Mr. T."-that indeed, and even in regard to an apartment for us, everything worked out in the end like clockwork. - Just across the yard, 3 steps around the corner, at the master painter Schirma Paler’s, Opitz Str. No. 11, a family moved out. The young man had been drafted. It became empty and through my connection with Mr. Writs from the housing office, I was the new happy owner from January 1.
"We can marry" was the next express letter to Wuppertal. "Oh dear! That fast?" came back in the next letter. But what was the point? To own an apartment or not was worth a marriage! And with that, a day was soon set for this event, April 17, 1941. – And from that moment on, there was nor more relaxation for me. – One thing quickly followed the other, hardly any time to think. The struggle for the existence and non-existence of a people required all the forces still available. 1 ½ Days of rail travel separated us. Too far to enjoy the happy time of engagement. Traveling became more difficult. Everywhere bomb raids at increased frequency. I was only able to visit my Gerdchen twice in the Rhineland during the following months.
The wedding day came closer. Only one more week and I was with her! There was still much to think about and prepare together. Some things were missing. Among them, as was custom, a formal dress for Gerdchen, the wedding dress, and even more difficult to find, the dark suit for the man. There was not much left to find in the stores. Where else could one find such a thing? As a last resort in our search we entered a rental store. How interesting! There were colorful uniforms hanging in a long row! In all designs far back into the 18th century. "That was something for the stage!" No, I hadn't come to the Rhineland to play theater! There was no tuxedo for me to find. What to do? Disappointed, we left this store with a musty smell that still haunted us for miles.
Well, as so often, at last, after hours of searching through Wuppertal-Elberfeld and Barmen, finally a store where I found something - a dark suit for the coming day. Gerdchen had already provided for a lot of style herself; silver shoes, matching the wedding dress. "One small and one large shoe" was explained to me. Did I understand that correctly? Am I marrying a girl with two different feet? That was news to me! I had forgotten for a moment that we were at war. At that time, everyone was happy to find a pair of reasonably fitting shoes, let alone even a possibility for this silver luxury. They fit, that was the main thing.
Finally, after all the to and fro, and unforeseeable difficulties, the longed-for day of joy came, the wedding at Gerdchen's parents' house at Memeler Str. 41. We did not have much, only the allocated rations, and yet, everything was amply and well provided for. Mother was the only one of us Ternows who was able to participate and she had set out on the long and difficult journey. She got to know my Gerdchen and the two dear parents as well as two old grandmas, both over 80 years old, uncles and aunts and some of Gredchen’s girlfriends that were invited - a small circle. A happy get-together followed after the official and the church wedding ceremony in the Lutheran Church with Pastor Tappenberg, where two people said "I do" to each other, and God gave the blessing.
In the late afternoon another train left for Cologne. We wanted to spend the honeymoon in our Braubach where we had first met. Since it was already late, we stayed in Cologne and unexpectedly experienced our first joint air-raid alert. We did not seek refuge in the air-raid shelter and fortunately we were spared. The enemy had found another target for his carpet-bombing. Early in the morning we took the train to the safe "Felsenkeller". - Braubach on the Rhine, with its familiar ruin of the castle of marauding knights, the Markburg.
The happy days in this beautiful area passed too quickly during trips and hikes amid the sunny spring of nature. It made us forget, at least for a short time, everything that was far away - the struggle of the world out there. Only the present, the long awaited fulfillment of a happy get-together filled our hearts here.
The time and hour came and we had to part from this lovely place, back to Wuppertal. Here it was time to say goodbye to her parents, who had so faithfully cared for her until then. In Bunzlau, Silesia, was the "newly built nest" for the two of us. Gerdchen had no idea that it was a final parting and farewell to a dear person, the mother, at that time.
The journey led via Berlin. A short break with our old Aunt Edwina who had not been able to come to our wedding, was a pleasant surprise for her. A few hours later, our night train continued on to Silesia, and still at dawn, tired and exhausted, we reached our destination.
15 April 1941. At 4 o'clock in the morning, a new day dawned. "Bunzlau, Bunzlau!" cried the conductor. Only a few doors flew open. - So here we were; the little town that became our new home, the home of our children. - The future. - Who could foresee how short this time would be, while the war raged on two fronts and claimed its victims from everyone.
We stepped out into the freshness of a new day. The short path ran right across the Promenade Park. A colorful picture of flowers on each side and there, suddenly the sun shining through the soft green of an awakening spring day. Further through the narrow alleys with the old houses, the pointed half-timbered gables, like friendly faces looking down at us as if to say: "You are welcome here!” - Then only a few more minutes. Past the Odeon Pond, where the last veils of a light fog were lifting. There in the middle, the small island with weeping willows and the little swan houses and their proud inhabitants, one wing and the other stretching out far, ready for the first morning excursion through the cool waters. - Was not everything still like it had been in my childhood? We used to sit over there with mother and aunts, having coffee and cake, watching the magnificent white birds and secretly shared some pieces of food with them and the carps or goldfish that were always there. Nothing had changed in a quarter of a century. And there, at the beginning of Opitz Street, the old three-story school building with its 6 entrances and the wide schoolyard; how many memories were suddenly triggered by this sight. Yes, the old school days. ---
Starting a new household takes time, requires patience and experience in all the unusual demands that came our way in the beginning. I was surprised how quickly Gerdchen mastered the art of cooking, even though it started with small failures. "But, a master does not fall from the sky", as an old saying goes! Unfortunately, the first tears fell when the bacon for a delicious potato salad went up in smoke in the too hot pan. The tears, however, were not so much for the burning as for the fact that there was so heartily little to be had, and the tight food rations became less and less from day to day. But we were happy together and so we could bear many things more easily. –
But for how much longer? This unspoken question remained a constant, frightening companion for us. But how comfortable I was despite all this. The store right next door, enough work, more than necessary, because most of the businesses had long since been closed and the owners and workers were obliged to do military service. I was still allowed to consider myself one of the unusually free ones. We could have lunch together, I could organize my time according to my wishes, and I still could enjoy my "freedom", except for a weekly visit to the registration office.
A year passed and we had settled into our new surroundings. For me it was easier, I soon felt at home again. Gerdchen on the other hand - far away from her loved ones - here many things were still strange and unfamiliar to her; but it takes time.
Strangely enough, the press and radio had not mentioned anything about Russia for weeks. Hardly anyone heard the name anymore. Everything seemed quiet on the Eastern front. But strangely enough, what was the purpose of the transport of endless trains with troops and weapons, as well as the long columns of tanks on the old army road that led to the East? Were we allowed to express our suspicions? - German divisions on the advance to R.
The Führer had spoken. On June 22, 1941, at night at 3:15 a.m., our armies invaded Russia on a broad front. Thus began a new phase in the expansion of this madness. We were in a cold sweat when we all heard the news on the radio early Sunday morning. - Where was this going to lead? To Moscow in a second Napoleon campaign?
A long walk through the Bunzlau city park, out into the silence in the middle of the woods, away from people and houses, - collecting thoughts - there was still peace and quiet to be found here. In the afternoon, we found distraction in Krauschen, like so often, where mother was waiting for us children, and Anni with her 4 girls, who ran happily towards us. In this familiar environment everything was still the same. Only one person was missing, the father - he hadn't had a vacation for a long time and now it would be even more unlikely. Johannes was still stationed in the Reich with the air defense. Could he be transferred to the Russian Front like hundreds of thousands of others? Anxious questions arose.
In the course of the suddenly new events I had almost forgotten that a large part of my luggage was still on the way. "That is probably lost", I was told, and I came to terms with this thought. But then, surprisingly, I received the news from the customs office at the end of June: "Your luggage arrived in Königsberg shortly before the outbreak of the war with Russia.” I could not believe my eyes. Except for some for me personally valuable possessions, I found the delicious bean coffee, which had been packed months ago and was by know "unknown" in Germany, already for a long time. The pleasure was worth the high customs duties and Gerdchen and mother enjoyed it particularly.
Gerdchen also felt very comfortable and at home in Krauschen, where we spent many weekends. - Walks through fields and the nearby forest, over the Fuchsberg - I knew every path - the beautiful view from that hill. Once again, memories of my youth came back to life. The Gräditzberg not too far away, there it lay, the only elevation in this plain of the Silesia country that is stretching before us. How often was it our destination on a hike or a ride on our bikes, or, though seldom, on the small train that meandered from Bunzlau through many villages to the wooded mountain base.
At that time, whether it was wild pigeons that I caught from high above from the tower beams and carried home in my jacket pocket to my friend Wolfgang, who had accompanied me so that he could give them a new home in his pigeon breeding enterprise, or was it an old rifle that we found, disassembled and dragged home; nothing remained hidden, it was all brought back home! At that time, we were the young "marauding nights " who felt at home here. It was part of our home.
In the late summer another picture presented itself. Through the edge of the forest the heath shimmered in full bloom, laid out for us like a dark red carpet. Mother called it "Erika"! She loved flowers more than anything! Many a bouquet was picked here and decorated her room in wintertime. In spring, it was the daisies, her favorite flower, which enchanted the meadows, and in between, the blue bellflowers and the cornflowers at the edge of the fields. A simple yet bright bouquet was the most beautiful thing we could bring her.
English Translation – part 2 (pages 39-83)
Gerdchen was expecting our first child – Little Waltraud was born on February 25, ‘42, a joyful event; how grateful we were. It was also a joy for the grandparents. It was their wish to visit us as soon as possible and we were looking forward to seeing them again. - Then came the hardly believable news of her mother’s sudden passing - too sudden!
Gerdchen, with little Waltraut in her baby pillow, had to make the difficult journey to her hometown. Who would have guessed that the goodbye a year ago, would be forever? What else could shake us? Here this, and there the miserable war. Was there still a ray of hope to be seen somewhere? The bombing raids became more intense from month to month. Every city that had been spared so far could expect to be the next target. The air defense against this superiority was unsuccessful. – Johannes was transferred to the Russian Front.
Gerda's father visited us. He was supposed to stay with us. We still felt safer here than anywhere else in the larger cities. He was no longer the same. Visibly recognizable was the difficult time that lay behind him, a loss that was not easy to overcome; a big hole remained. How nice it would be if he would move in with us. The Rhineland had already suffered greatly. His retirement was imminent, thus, we had to be patient. However, in the meantime he found a kindred soul and we heard that a second marriage was to be expected. A second short period of happiness; we wondered, was there any talk of this at all?
"Father seriously ill in the hospital", was an abrupt message, followed shortly by a telegram. - Blow after blow followed; first the dear mother, then two grandmothers, and now, all of a sudden, the dear father so unexpectedly. – For all of us, and especially for Gerdchen, - at first unbelievable. The last link to her old home was gone.
We had to bow under what was imposed on us in this difficult time and took it from God's hand. He alone stood above us and the struggle of all nations. This should also serve to strengthen our faith and to strengthen us for what we still had to face in life. That was how I learned to see those things that threatened to rob us of our inner balance.
Yes, soon new unrest arose with the passage of time. Then a letter from the district office came that said: "We would like to advise you to submit an application as soon as possible to regain your civil rights as a German citizen. A delay in this matter could possibly have very unpleasant consequences for you". - A “broad hint”, as I had long anticipated. I had already heard a lot about this in similar cases. Above all, there was no pleasant prospect in case of a refusal. I did not think about it twice since I recognized my extremely critical situation. - "Now the time had come!" "Concentration camp or front," in other words. So there was not much left to decide. - An eerie game. - "Checkmate - the last move!"
Faster than expected I received the confirmation of my German citizenship and even faster followed the first order to join the Wehrmacht and the request for a medical fitness examination. I had been selected for the medical ambulance troops to Russia.
How could I settle my business matters so quickly? I appealed and was given 8 weeks to dissolve and close the business. Six weeks later, the first draft order followed.
On December 11, 1942, Hitler declared war on America, and two days later, on December 13, I had to report for duty in the army. Gerdchen accompanied me on the short train ride to Lauban to the barracks. And again our paths parted. This time more uncertain than ever the future lay ahead of us and each time the separation was more difficult. Who could even foresee or suspect what the future would bring, while death and destruction continued to rage in this insane war. From that day on, I was "conscripted" to learn a new craft, a cruel one – the craft of legal murder and destruction.
Anti-tank defense was the name of the unit I was assigned to. From now on everything was routine. I was issued a sloppy uniform and a slightly better one, a steel helmet, gas mask, and God knows what else; whatever was needed for the protection of life. And weapons - he gun with which the infantryman learns his first exercises. Two days later it was said: "we are leaving!" Where to? - Nobody knew that at first. East or West? Eventually it leaked out that our transport was to go to France for training. After two days we reached a small historical town on the Moselle where a 6-week training took place. Here the "grinding" with the pack defense for the use against tank weapons began. –
These were weeks where the motto was: "grit your teeth". How many times the individual was degraded and berated! Air-raid alert, cover! Quick as lightning, throw yourself to the left or right into the trenches, no matter how deep the mud or dirt! Up, down, three times, four times, until we were all exhausted and then we moved on; 5 men to a pack. Change of position, and then it started all over again, until finally the sergeant had shouted himself hoarse.
Again and again we went through the same crap, and some never understood it, or did not want to. Then it was "gas masks on!" and at a pace through almost impossible terrain until we were sweating under the steel helmet and under the mask that was over our faces, until sweat ran like clear water down all our limbs. Or who does not remember the daily terrain marches that were part of the "physical training". And we had to sing. "A song!" echoed the roaring voice! "Three, four!" – “It is so nice to be a soldier etc.” and if that didn't work, well there was hell to pay. --- Well, what idiot had written those lyrics?!
After 4 weeks of this memorable period of basic training, it was time for a "transfer”! To where? Once again we "older men" over 30 years had been mercifully treated. Luckily, our group continued west, across France to Les Sables on the Bay of Biscay, and anyone with a civilian driver's license could join a transport group for further technical training. Here things went more quietly, we deserved it! More free time was available while our service with vehicle, through constant readiness in case of a new invasion, kept the tension up. In Dunkirk the Allies had suffered a defeat and heavy losses at the beginning. A repetition was not to be expected for the time being. Bunkers and fortifications were built at all strategic points along the Atlantic coast.
The southern section of the front was still quiet. We entertained ourselves and the autumn brought a few quiet weeks. "The grape harvest"; comrade Adolf always came along when I suggested an evening walk through the vineyards to make sure the “harvest had been complete”. All around we had our pick of the grapes and very soon we found the varieties that we liked best. Very soon we were spoiled like the taste buds of a trained connoisseur and enjoyed the tastiest of the fruits to the fullest. Later in the evening, some mulled wine often rounded off the evening. In the mess there was also a celebration every now and then. A number of artists were among us, who also enriched our "request concerts". At such gatherings the mood rose, just like everybody needed, and we enjoyed short hours of distractions. - How much longer?
1st Vacation
Then came one of the always welcome letters from home with the message: "A little daughter has arrived" (April 27, ‘43?). Little Waltraud had been joined by a little sister. Rosemarie was suddenly there! What a joy! My requested vacation was at first rejected and only approved the following May. Then came the day and what a sudden surprise, since Gerdchen had no idea about my arrival and the first visit. After a miserable 2-day trip, I arrived in Bunzlau in the afternoon. There, on the old familiar promenade of the first park, who do I see coming towards me? Gerdchen with two little gold beetles in a little cart on the way to the post office! - A short time before, Gerdchen had just thought: "Dear daddy should come soon now!” And indeed, the thought and wish came true like magic. What a joyful reunion!
Ten days at home, the gray uniform off, - free from all the burdens of the otherwise everyday life. Here the air was finally different again. The feeling of being among the loved ones was worth living, even if only for a short time, it was a happy get-together.
The following summer was to remain calm. Nothing new in the West! While wall defenses were feverishly built at all strategic points along the Atlantic coast.
The second Christmas for me at the front approached! Would I be allowed on vacation once more, to experience these days at home? Understandably, family fathers with 4 or more children had priority. I was allowed to leave already in November and was glad about this rare opportunity.
So it went once again in the direction of home. This time not without disturbance, when suddenly, at night, the train underneath us travelers suddenly blew up. Again the partisans had done a good job. An explosion woke me up shortly after midnight. Suitcases, luggage, people - a chaotic mess. The car tilted to one side and came to a halt. I was able to free myself from this turmoil through a smashed window. What was going on here? Not knowing anything at the moment; everybody went on high alert, ready for action. And so I spent the night in a ditch until the early morning. Fortunately, we had not suffered any losses from this act of sabotage. Only 24 hours later a replacement train came to free us from this situation and the journey continued.
With bruises but otherwise having gotten off easy, I reached home. And who came to meet me when I opened the door? Next to the dear mummy stood little Waltraud, delighted, and in the bedroom, in front of the mirror toilet, was the basket with our youngest “little bawler”. How nice Gerdchen had furnished everything and how comfortable everything was, especially in the small room with the warmth radiating tiled stove. There stood the walnut writing cabinet, the masterpiece with all the books. In many a quiet hour a dear greeting from Gerdchen had gone from here to me at the far front. The dining room Gerdchen had inherited from her parents. All in dark oak; the doors of the buffet and credenza in veneer, artfully put together. The long pull-out table, where we had the pleasure of entertaining many a dear guest in the first year. The bedroom had also aroused many an admiration, as well as the kitchen with the large cupboard. The days flew by. We walked the old familiar way to Krauschen where mother was waiting for us. How happy they all were when we came, the four girls, and how they jumped around Aunt Gerda and Uncle Siegfried; everything like in the old days.
In Silesia there was still peace and quiet; no bombs had fallen here yet. Although, everything was ready in case of "the fall," disaster was to strike here as well. Who knew what kind of fate was still in store for our homeland. So the last days and hours passed in our home. – A last look back; would I see all this again? Who could know in these hours of separation and farewell? Something weighed heavier than ever on my mind. (date? check soldier’s pay book)
Three days later I was standing at attention: "Private Ternow reports back from vacation!” - A Christmas without peace came and went and the general situation became more restless with the beginning of the new year. My transfer to La Rochelle followed and later to La Roche and Bordeaux; but Lyon remained our headquarters. At the moment there was no expectation yet of some action at the front in the West; the East, on the other hand, needed all the forces. And those who did not seem necessary in the extreme case of an invasion came to Russia. I was not among them.
And then came the day like lightning with its shattering power, "D-day," June 6, ‘44, at Caen with a superiority like never before. The bridge fight soon expanded in every direction, like a blaze of fire, even further south, toward our positions. Nothing could withstand this material superiority for long, while the heavy losses without replacement soon made themselves painfully felt in our case. The 158 division staff was aware that an unstoppable catastrophe could no longer be avoided, even though our 3 regiments were fully deployed. However, on August 18, the scheduled withdrawal from France began.
From the South, the enemy also advanced more quickly and attempted to strategically contain the central occupation of France, of which we were a part. Was escape to the East still possible? - "Far is the way back to the homeland!" How often had we sung this song during our marches! Now the time had come, and it was not going to be an easy road. My car was loaded with as much fuel and reserves as it could hold, and so the march to the East started; day and night. Leaving burning cities with blown up camps and ammunition depots behind, a horrible picture - devastation. Over impossible roads and the enemy on both sides; without a break, without rest. A few hours at night at most, if there was any possibility at all. The losses became devastating. In disintegrated marching columns, isolated, scattered, on foot, if lucky then with a bicycle but without tires - a bleak picture. And despite everything, still in reasonably orderly motion. –
If we thought we had escaped the last encirclement, we rested for a few hours, minutes, as long as the enemy was not too close on our heels, just to take care of some personal business, to put ourselves back together, at least a little. Being able to take a bath or shower was one of the rarest things that could be done, whenever there was still a chance. One day I was sitting in the middle of it (I had the rare opportunity) fully soaped, when a sudden alarm broke out! Everybody in line, readiness –was this for real?! I still could not hear any grenades detonating to the right or left, only commands! At that moment I was getting even hotter than the bath I hurriedly jumped out of. - Everybody is already running around out there! What now? After a few minutes everything is back in order. It worked even without Ternow. - Fortunately it had been a short, surprising practice alarm.
As soon as we move on, all hell breaks loose again. Under the most difficult of conditions and with heavy losses our units were able to stop the enemy once more; we survive to "sing another song". One night, I get stuck in a ditch with my car during a reconnaissance trip. "Jabos" dominated the airspace; wherever something moves, they start a low altitude attack and a merciless bullet rain begins. I am lucky, a tank pulls me out of the mud in the early morning. Many a brave man loses his nerve and goes completely crazy during these conditions. How can one retain strong nerves when everybody always has to give it all? –
In one or the other village we briefly took up quarters. We found food in a factory and supplied ourselves abundantly with all varieties - this time it was cheese. There lay in long rows the big "wheels" where we cut down big wedges with the bayonet. There was also no lack of chocolate in another factory, it was enough for the next few weeks. Even if there was nothing else to eat, this was a diet not to be sneezed at. We passed through Lyon - little Paris - Dijon, Epinal and Saint Die at the foot of the Vosges Mountains. Here we were told to stop: "Hold position at all costs!" - Thus, then, the last stand against a superior force that came at us from all sides.
We lay in a hail of grenades day and night, and nothing escaped it. We had to hold out despite heavy losses: "Orders from above!” The Vosges Mountains were to serve as the last bulwark to defend our homeland and to hold the enemy in our section between Kolmar - Strasbourg in the Rhine valley.
Fortifications and barriers were erected at every crossing. Reconnaissance trips crisscrossing this beautiful mountain landscape remained my task for the following weeks. It was a last deep breath, a small interruption, until all hell broke loose over this section as well. Holding out was not to last long, we were pushed back further. But we held on, tenaciously to the extreme.
A Vosges Mountain tunnel served as the last escape route. This ride in my car, not quite operational anymore, remained something to remember. I hung on the tow rope of an off-road vehicle, the driver of which raced like a madman through the deserted land over railroad ties and pot holes. Deep holes created by the removal of railroad ties and rails was no problem for my tow truck, but what about me?! How was I going to get out of this dirt and dust in one piece? It was a miracle that at the other end of the tunnel daylight shone once again, and fresh air revived my lungs.
We stayed for a short "stop" in a new position east of this small mountain world, because no sooner had a hole been shoveled out here for cover than we found ourselves closer to the enemy, closer than before. The enemy had long since bypassed even these small obstacles, the Vosges Mountains, and had continued his push eastward without a tunnel! My vehicle finally gave up; what was left now was no longer operational. - Strasbourg, the beautiful city, it was heavily fought over. Was it now the River Rhine that was to be the very last bastion and line of defense of the West for our Fatherland? Here, as on the Eastern Front, there were heavy losses that foretold a near end.
The Russian armies were close to the borders of Silesia. – For a long time no news had reached me, even impossible just to think that such a thing still existed. What was it like at home? Where were my brothers fighting? Johannes was last in Russia, and where was Helmut? The icy winter, Russia's best ally - as it was once in 1812 during Napoleon's retreat, so also today. The German armies devastatingly beaten. Between them, and in front of a wave of Russians, moved an endless army of refugees, such as world history has never seen. So the news slowly filtered through, the veiled Wehrmacht news. Our division chief knew exactly how the situation stood. What was the use? Everyone did his duty with all their strength and to exhaustion.
A typical bunker made of logs and dirt on a wooded eastern hillside of the Vosges Mountains became the next headquarters of the 158th Division from where the reports went out. Almost useless to mention - any new position was very soon known to the enemy. At a strategic point "3 Ähren", an old climatic spa resort high up in the mountains, was one of our defense posts, heavily fought over. It served to cover the retreat of the few troops that remained, and at the same time to secure our supplies, that is, if a transport was lucky enough to reach us via the "death strip". I passed it twice in full field gear, crawling like a snake on my belly, and was mercifully spared. But I remember two good comrades in particular. We carried them to their graves, the frozen earth was the place of their final rest. - –
Transports, they got stuck and the rations became less every day. In addition, it was turning colder, the conditions became more critical by the day, and the Wehrmacht reports from the East more discouraging. The mood was at zero.
Our position was nowhere permanent; a halt, a brief stretching of tired bones. Scarce hours, at most half a night. Who could still think clearly? Who would not become numb with this daily killing, and having death before his eyes every moment. What was left of our so proud 158th Division? How often had it been replenished with reserve troops? That all had ended now. At home, the last reserves of "cripples" and lame men were trained for the "meat grinder".
In the Rhine plain raged continuous heavy fighting, stubborn attacks and counterattacks. Our regiment still had 3 tanks. What these last remnants accomplished was incredible. – Our chief and staff were taken prisoner, the rest of us was scattered. A new counterattack took place and the next day we were able to find a pathetic bunch, including our division chief, a Knight's Cross bearer - I had respect for the guy! But at that moment, when I recognized him, he looked more like a badly plucked chicken. Everything had been robbed from him in the few hours of captivity, the rest had been torn off. Seriously weakened, but thanks to a brave crew, he was at least lucky to escape from this delicate situation.
It remained an inexorable retreat from place to place. Those who still had healthy bones could be thankful. On a reporting trip to the front, my driver with sidecar sped past a column of horses too close. I thought at that moment my right arm was torn out, but it was not quite so bad. The persistent pain made me unfit for duty for 2 weeks; I was sent to the field hospital for treatment. To avoid an uncertain transfer, I reported to the regimental staff as an interpreter.
Interrogations of individual captured Yanks did not occur much, and little could be discovered from a conversation. Mostly, "all the fleas were silent." What else were we to do with a captured Yank in those last weeks of lost battle? We let them roam free and they understood us and disappeared overnight. - We remained the hunted. As soon as dusk fell, as usual, a hail of shells began, the signal for us to clear the village. Beautiful villages, farmsteads, barns and stables went up in flames, turning dusk into day. There was no place to stop or cover to be found here. It remained an inevitable retreat.
Wounded
Worse than ever, the fields soaked, without hold after the last frost and rain, boots stuck up to the ankles in the clay of the fields, - and on we went through the mud. Ahead of us was a dense wooded area, we had to reach it to find some cover. We were being chased, boxed in, like game in a hunt. Flares whistled past my head, shells exploded anew in front and behind us. They knew exactly where to find us!
No sooner had a new position been taken up - whether in the field or in the cellar of a farmhouse - and our radio equipment in operation, the last connection with an adjacent unit, a new intense hail of grenades started with the horrible whistling and ear-splitting explosions. Villages burned behind us that we had just left, a horror went through all my limbs at the sight of this sea of flames. For how much longer should this raging go on?
We reached the forest area, here the next defense line should be built up. With what? I was happy to have escaped this hellish pursuit once again. After a short interruption, the shelling started again and raged to a greater extent than ever before. Everyone looked for cover where he could. There was no time to dig a cover. To the left behind a pine tree I hunkered down, to the right a comrade. The position has long since been recognized by the enemy and been taken into the sight of their guns. Shrapnel after shrapnel causes fountains of fire and dirt to shoot up in front us. They are closing in on us. - Flashes, deafening crashes, screams - not far to my left a comrade's legs are torn off by a direct hit. – Horrible! - Minutes pass, I pull my steel helmet lower and press my face into the dirt.
[Insert: I heard later many similar stories, where somebody in hindsight could not justify why he changed his position in a flash or pulled the steel helmet deeper into his face and threw himself into a ditch, while next to him, where he lay seconds ago, the next shell hit with a fountain of fire and dirt and nothing is left of his comrade.]
There again, the whistling - too close - I see only a fireball in front of me. With the explosion everything is torn apart, blinding, fire, everything around me burning. - I am pulled up by the force and fall back. A pain jolts through all the limbs. "Is this the end? Am I torn apart? Am I still alive?" Yes, I- I try to breathe - thank God, these organs are still intact! These were the first thoughts that radiated like lightning from the brain! "I am still alive, the war is over!” – “The end”, and again and again, “The end'" - February 5, 1945.
The shrapnel hit between me and my comrade, close to my head, a direct hit, and tore open the right side of my head and tore off half my nose. Splinters sat in the back of my neck and my shoulder was also wide open. Then I first noticed that there was something hanging from my right hand - my thumb on a thin scrap of skin.
Barely aware of all this at that moment, I rolled around and came up. Where was a paramedic? A makeshift bandage was all that was offered. My comrade had only some small splinters. Something told me: “Just get away from here!” An irrepressible urge to live overcame me at that moment. Danger in the greatest need, the sudden realization to save one’s own life - to be or not to be. Isn’t it true that in such moments superhuman forces suddenly arise in us, which one normally doesn't think possible? Forces driven by an almost supernatural inner urge.
I dragged myself, hardly knowing in which direction - with the support of a comrade; further, only further - away from this hell that wanted to take no end. Secret ammunition depots blew up, the forest burned in many places. What did I care! Hours passed staggering round, the night illuminated by the fires, my strength started to wane, the blood loss. How should I get out of here? Suddenly noises! - Vehicles with dimmed lights- a road! Where are we? In which direction are they going? Are they ours or enemy formations? I don't care about that either at the moment. I stop and listen again. There! Clearly audible, "German voices!" I collapse at the roadside, half bleeding to death. A truck stops. How I got on the vehicle, I do not know. I lay stretched out between others and hardly noticed what was happening to me. I only remember one thing. As if in a constant cycle, a thought was turning in my brain: "The war is over, the war is over!"
In a field hospital, provisionally equipped for the wounded, I finally woke up with new bandages around my head, arm, and right hand, through which the blood seeped. “You will be sent to Wiesbaden, on the other side of the Rhine”, I was told. Here, too, there was already heavy fighting; most of the bridges in the Kolmar section were destroyed. It was a short ride by ambulance to the left bank of the Rhine. The closer we came to the river, the more clearly an incredible state of chaos was revealed. Vehicles in retreat, many stuck in the mud and mire, shot horses, still hitched to wagons, killed by air raids. Horrible pictures everywhere you looked. There was no way forward here. So on foot, and to those who can: “save yourself across the river!” Where was the “Watch on the Rhine”? [patriotic anthem]
I pass through Neu Breisach - here too everything is destroyed - along the main street and past small stores with smashed windows, here and there, in between, one is still intact. At a street corner, next to a building, I stop. Where to go from here? A second look. I see someone in the reflection of a window. Is that supposed to be me? The face is sticky with blood, unrecognizable. What had happened to me? A little further on, the road ends - dirt and mud, no way through. There is water flowing, high water, the Rhine has gone far beyond its banks!
Is this the river, the stream with its proud castles, where I spent our happiest time and our honeymoon with Gerdchen just 3 years ago? Poor Germany! I looked across, that is where home is. No ferry, no bridge intact. Gray and dull in a monotonous murmur, the masses roll inexorably northward. What is left to do here? Around me a debris field of destruction, a tragic end to this area that must have happened just shortly before. Should I go back? No! – What do I see over there? Looking through low brushwood - a small rowboat drifts over, it hangs on a rope and comes ashore. What is all this? I move closer and don't see much. "Get in!" is all I hear and it starts moving again with powerful oar strokes. – I am the only passenger. We do not talk much – the looks of me seemed to say more than words could have otherwise.
Are there still angels who meet us at the right time? I am inclined to say so! Without a doubt, God sends His messengers at the right time, when we need them most. Again I was able to experience it so clearly in my life, and I am grateful for it with all my heart.
Heidelberg was the next collection camp for the wounded. A truck took me the first distance, then in a freight train on a straw bed I reached Wiesloch Station, a reserve hospital, on February 7, completely exhausted. - When had I last rested in a bed? I sank into it – without any strength left, worn out. Was this the end?
How long had there been no news from home? The trains hardly ran anymore. The enemy planes in low-altitude attacks made sure of that. Railroad tracks could be restored overnight, but not the locomotives that lay on the stations and tracks like shot game. The reports became more and more sparse. - No more "special reports" of victorious battles on land and sea, as had once been the case during the first two years. Five years of war had worn us down completely. The enemy had reached its goal, the German border, and had already crossed it. On the evening of February 11, ‘45, the last Wehrmacht report read, among other things, in a short sentence, "Today Bunzlau was lost to the enemy after hard fighting!" - Again a numbing blow that robbed me of my senses for the moment. Where were my loved ones, Gerdchen, the children, mother and all the others???
Unable to even think clearly, I left everything in silent prayer to our Lord and God. – And later I was able to realize: "In all distress, did not the merciful God spread His wings over you?”
Had it been possible for my loved ones to escape from the Russians at the last minute? Where to? Where was safety? I myself could not pick up a pen. Who could I write to? My right hand lay splinted in a tight bandage. In the field hospital the doctor had wanted to remove the thumb completely. It was in pieces, the limb torn apart. Would it ever be somewhat usable again? – I dictated a few short lines to the nurse for postcard to Berlin, somewhere, anywhere. There had to be a connection possible after all. How gratefully I received the first joyful news, Margot wrote: "Your loved ones are all well and are at present in Theusing, Sudetenland." - Weeks later, the first greeting also came from here: "Yes, we have all come through graciously, although everything had to be left behind, but we are alive and together!" - The first ray of light in all the darkness and bitter hardship.
The injuries healed well, from the nasal bone a part was still missing (and the nose remained crooked to this day). The right cheek, which lay completely open, and the torn muscle on the upper arm soon ceased to worry me. I learned to write with my left hand - what else could I do - short greetings - I could read it, and I guess the others could too. I was allowed to walk and move around. How good that felt after all those weeks. In the meantime, the Americans had long since advanced across the Rhine. At the bridgehead "Remagen" the floodgates had opened and only little resistance was to be expected from now on. The thunder of the guns was getting closer day by day. Heidelberg was very soon to become the headquarters of the Allies. They had spared it for this purpose and had not dropped any bombs. I was not far from it. But to be on the safe side, the military hospital was slowly being evacuated. Those who had the opportunity, were allowed to transfer to the nearest military hospital in their home town.
Reunion in Theusing
And my homeland - was only where my loved ones had fled to at the time. Behind me lay the collapsed front with all its agonies, and in front of me a long way, through some cities that lay in heaps of rubble, in ruins and ashes. - Again and again the same picture, huge "grave mounds" - here and there a sign with name and street designation: "We are in, etc. - We are alive - " How many other fates and agonies of death hid these mounds with their cellars of the doomed, buried alive?
Hardly a train ran; the stations empty. The great arched entrances of the vast halls, the only thing still standing, gaped helplessly at the onlooker. The features of an inner, collapsed front stared back from wherever the gaze turned. Germany, the homeland, lay on the ground, completely destroyed. It remained a slow progress, but the knowledge: “They are alive. I am on the way to see them again!”, let me overcome all obstacles easier - meager rations, overnight stays on hard cement floor in a bunker in frost and cold. Had we not all been faithfully preserved, did not many of our fellow citizens had to endure an even harsher lot? Those who never found their loved ones again?
March 21: After a 5-day march, partly on trucks, and short distances by train, I found my loved ones again in Theusing. We were happily reunited! Two days of this joy and I had to report to Carlsbad, the nearest reserve hospital, to where my transfer was. Carlsbad had been declared a military hospital town and thus was not exposed to any wartime dangers.
Good care and rest over the next few weeks soon gave me new strength. During this time I was able to visit Theusing several times over the weekend and stay with my loved ones. Gerdchen also made the difficult journey several times to surprise me in the military hospital. The train ran only once a day and very irregularly since the fronts and occupying forces threatened this area from all sides. In addition, the internal enemy, the underground movement, came more to the surface to openly declare war.
An unexpected heavy bombing raid took place during on Carlsbad’s industrial center and railroad area the last hours of the war. Nothing was spared from this carpet of bombs. I was with a comrade in the city center on that historic afternoon. The slowly increasing roar of hundreds, no, not infrequently over a thousand airplanes, with their bomb load was nothing new for us. But when the sirens in the second alarm stage with their deafening scream literally strained the eardrums to bursting, it was "serious", and in seconds everyone was like the rats in the cellar hole or in the next air raid shelter. That is what happened to me that late afternoon. The tension to the extreme. What is their next destination? Will they fly on - or - suddenly there was a crash, a quake, a tremor. The ceilings and walls threatened to collapse, again and again quakes all around! "The judgment of the world is upon us! Oh, will we prevail? God save us from this hell.” Each of these minutes becomes an eternity.
Then it was quiet. We came out of the cellar. Smoke and fumes waft toward me; a conflagration rages on the other side of the River Eger. Fires rage and blaze over 100 meters high. Where does the storm come from so suddenly in the direction of the fire? It needs oxygen and eats it up like the supply to a huge glowing furnace. - Whoever witnesses this only once, has an idea of what was going on in the many direct hits under the houses, where the refugees found their grave, buried alive in the cellars. - The military hospitals were spared, the enemy still kept to the Geneva agreements of the international Red Cross.
I knew that even here my stay was short-lived. The change, the wandering, moving from one place to another slowly became a habit. From the soldier's pay book it had been gathered that I belonged last to the regimental staff as an interpreter. I was therefore no less surprised to present myself one morning to the General Chief Physician. The reason was a trip to the Allied headquarters near Chemnitz on the next day, for a negotiation on the evacuation of the wounded from Carlsbad back to the Reich.
This time I was not to negotiate with prisoners of war as an interpreter, but as part of the defeated power with the victors. The Russians were standing not far from Carlsbad with their divisions, the Czechs were to get back their political self-government. That said it all, and the surrender of all German soldiers into Russian captivity could be foreseen. In order to avoid this at all costs, every effort had to be made to organize the necessary means of transportation for a speedy evacuation.
Hateful looks accompanied us upon arrival at the enemy headquarters. I did not expect anything good. As could be foreseen, the negotiation that was planned here took place in a negative atmosphere and as such, after much back and forth, came to nothing. We did not find and did not see any support for this difficult operation, which forced the Chief of Staff to make a decision in the end. On the contrary, I heard from what was said, that a delivery of thousands of wounded to the Russians, appeared to the Americans to be a welcome relief and solution. Unsuccessfully, our small party took its leave - with a white flag - back across the temporary demarcation line.
On this trip I realized, that my stay in Carlsbad would last only hours longer, and that under all foreseeable circumstances, I would have to decide for myself what to do - by the quickest means to Theusing and further across the German border. The "Wolves from the East" were once again at the gates of the city! Whatever the decision of our commander would amount to - evacuation or holding out - I was ready to march out at any hour. Few only knew about the unsuccessful negotiation on the evacuation of the military hospitals.
Morning broke and surprisingly came the announcement that anyone who felt physically unrestrained and well on foot, had to report immediately. - Everyone was dismissed, assigned daily rations, clothing and extra shoes. Thus equipped, everyone could begin his march toward home. Easier said than done for those who had been bombed out and driven away and who never found their home again. And what happened to those who stayed behind and fell into Russian captivity for years to come? – It had been very close for me!
And so everything came faster as I had silently hoped and expected. The commander had made the only right decision. With two comrades I soon found myself on the country road, Carlsbad was behind us, the direction was known to me, Theusing, my destination, had to be reached as quickly as possible. The 3 of us were soon sitting on a tractor trailer, albeit not in the most comfortable condition, until we reached the next village. The main thing was that it was faster than on foot. Then we marched for hours until there was another opportunity to jump on a wagon. So it went on until I reached Theusing towards evening.
A new border line had been established and was occupied by the Yank. That meant controls, disarmament, or imprisonment. Important things were taken from everyone or "expropriated". The trip was to continue from here to Pilsen. - So it was said! - Who had not heard of this place "Pilsen", the infamous collection camp! And here in the immediate vicinity were my loved ones. I dreaded the thought. Under no circumstances would I be taken into custody here. No, never ever! To be handed over to the Bolsheviks, to fall into their hands, that would be the end! A little further, further I could go, it was slow, and then it was time. I had to jump off to escape this and somehow try my luck! The roads and intersections were manned by posts - they were just everywhere. - Everyone wished me luck! They were all young soldiers, what was still ahead of them, for the time being no one seemed to think about it.
I crept along the next side road. Should I cross the field? I thought about it - maybe, - No! I was wounded, right arm still bandaged and in a sling, what else could happen to me! Already a Yank comes towards me with his machine gun: "Stop!" I explained to him that I live here with my family. Of course he does not believe me; I was still a soldier and wore the gray uniform. In the end I persuaded him to come with me, because it is not far. At least I want to see my wife again. "OK." He comes along. "This is where I live." I ring the bell and someone comes down the stairs. Gerdchen! In a few words I can only tell her: "I am a prisoner, I am being sent to Pilsen. I will see you again!" That was the end of our short reunion.
Vehicle after vehicle had piled up on the road. No one knew where to go. Straight ahead, to the right, to the south, everywhere stagnation in every direction. The guard remained stubborn and took me to the next vehicle of this collective transport. "Get up!" He had done his duty. I found a place among the comrades. I now belonged as the newest member to a prisoner transport with an uncertain future. Dusk, night was falling. - There was hardly any movement in this endless wagon train of prisoners. Only slowly did we move forward, one, two, three houses further. All right, at the most one block - it was getting darker. To dare to escape now, to jump off, back along the street to the house, was almost impossible under the eyes of the escort guard. Guards constantly moving up and down. In the light of the glaring headlights, there was nothing that escaped their gaze.
I had to wait for exactly the time until one passed - then I jumped off and quickly back to the following vehicle. It succeeded 3-4 times. Finally I found myself diagonally opposite the house. "Should I risk it again?" One last jump before the cars start moving again? Not yet! - There the next Yank racing past. – Now or never, I tell myself, here is the last chance. A jump to the left, seconds only, - I press flat against the door, the bell rings - I hear someone literally running down the stairs. My heart is pounding like mad, I hold my breath, cold sweat is on my forehead. The door opens! Captivity - escape - and liberation, as if in one breath. Gerdchen stands in front of me. "Lock up, lights out!" I fall into her arms. She had no doubt that it would be me. –
Again we could thank our Lord with all our hearts. Never during the last few years have I slipped out of my uniform so quickly as after this escape-like episode! - How faithfully Gerdchen had provided - I had the choice of two of my civilian suits, which she had taken with her from Silesia. - Unbelievable! – From where had this thought come to her then in wise precaution, when surely there were other things to think of that seemed much more important than these clothes? - Does this not clearly show how our paths were guided in spite of all tribulation and deprivation? Finally - we were together again in civilian clothes and nothing should separate us, come what may!
The windows were darkened, no ray of light penetrated to the street. Could a guard have become suspicious? I hear only the muffled engine noise of this endless column; they are on the move again with all the hundreds of ours, prisoners, in the direction of the prison camp Pilsen, where an uncertain future awaited them. It is only towards morning that things become quiet.
Gerda's escape with our loved ones
The war was over, at least the fighting and killing on the collapsed fronts in the East, South and West. The Führer had committed suicide, Berlin, the Reich capital, had been conquered by the Russians. - –
Millions of people had been running around like wandering sheep since this time of collapse - looking for their relatives, for a place to stay, a new home, for work and a living. The few trains, wagons mostly without windows and benches - we called them standing wagons - they were crowded with people, with the few possessions each carried - crammed together like sardines; it became a symbol of the times. About 10% of the German people had fallen victim to the war - killed in air battles, on land and sea; wiped out by carpet bombing at home; a number that exceeded 7.5 million. - Never had I guessed then, on my trip through Hiroshima, that the final decision of this war would end here with the explosion of an atomic bomb on August 6, ’45; would end with this horrific annihilation of some 30,000 innocent people.
Even more horrible was already 6 months before, on February 13-14, the destruction of Dresden, and similar things that happened over almost all German cities. Dresden was the last victim of this madness, - which on both sides - here to the extreme, led to an annihilation of everything humane in an unthinkable way, exceeding all limits. –
Hundreds of thousands of refugees who escaped from rape and extermination from the Russians at the last minute had found refuge in this single "oasis" Dresden. Where else? And there they came, surprisingly, in squadrons, the bomb fortresses, innumerable ---, two days and two nights it rained death and devastation. Over 300,000 innocent people, mostly refugees, met their deaths here; it was six times the number of victims that Hiroshima suffered when the atomic bomb fell.
If a letter had arrived from her brother Günter shortly before Gerdchen's escape, advising his sister to hurry to Dresden with the children before the Russians approached, as we learned later, we would hardly have seen each other again. Here, too, another guidance from above was obviously intended for us!
Gerdchen and mother, they were already in Theusing, when the doom came down over Dresden, only 120km away from them. They saw only the swarms and heard the dull droning of the more than 1,000 death messengers, which moved in the direction of Dresden through the ether.
Already in January, with the retreat of the German front, disaster fell upon the civilian population, due to the irresponsible actions of the regional leaders. "Too late for an escape!" On the refugee treks, 3 million perished from hunger and cold, were overrun and shot down by Soviet tanks. And from what remained, about ¾ million civilians were deported to Russia for forced labor.
By May 6, Breslau - declared a fortress - was in the throes of a 6-week, relentless guerilla battle with house to house fighting that had to be abandoned in the end.
Gerdchen's home town of Wuppertal had suffered the same fate as all the other towns. More terrible still were the phosphorus fire bomb carpets, which one could hardly imagine in their cruelty. People who did not escape turned into burning torches and then lay shriveled up in the streets – burned to pieces so that they could be picked up and discarded with an ordinary shovel.
Theusing - The second escape
The next morning - an American guard with a machine gun patrolled the road; several times he passed our lodging. Should I venture out? Would I be recognized? I had no identification except my soldier’s pay book, but that would be madness. I was no longer in uniform. We have to leave, it will be impossible to stay. They say the Czechs have taken over the government. If it is not true now, it will certainly be so in a short time. What that meant for a German was clear to us. Not far to the East stood the Russian, who continued to occupy the Czech Republic for the time being.
I needed an identity card and could only get it from the local commander of the local police. The American commandant's office, which had the provisional administration in its hands, was only a few streets away. Should I dare to submit myself once again to the customary examination and testing of my heart and soul? - The guard had disappeared. So I quickly went to the commandant's office, past the guards and into the office. Everything went well, better than expected. - After a few minutes, I was holding one of those valuable identity cards in my hand with 6 short words: "These five people have been vetted!” In addition, well-intentioned advice for the direction, place and a trailer that would take us in the direction of the south - Pilsen. I was amazed at all the kindness. "Pilsen the collection camp”, about which we heard only terrible things; where men were separated and never saw their wives and children again - condemned to forced labor in Russia. That was the fate of countless people in the post-war period. - Cold sweat beaded on my forehead just at the thought!
The few things that we quickly packed and took with us were not worth mentioning. Each of us had a backpack full, even my poor mother. Yes, setting out again - will she make it once more? Is it not inhuman to be hunted, chased like this? Where should we escape to this time???
Our home destroyed; the home once so dear to us, razed to the ground. Two children, one still in diapers - they had hardly any room left in their little wagon - what else was there to stow away? I nailed together a two-wheeled cart and put a sack on it in which Gerdchen had packed only the most necessary things. Most of it remained behind. Early the next morning we were ready to march.
A good map from our landlady should make the way over mountains and borders easier. A farmer was supposed to take us the first stretch out of town on his wagon - we waited a long time, he did not come. The first disappointment, precious time was lost. Mrs. Schneider and her little daughter, also from Bunzlau, asked us to take them with us. How could I? I had the responsibility for 4 people and did not know myself what our destination would be. Everybody was desperate, and no one knew what lay ahead for us. Mrs. Krause, our landlady, she had so faithfully taken care of us during the time, as far as it was possible. Very soon she too had to bow to the same fate. Since the terrible bombing of Dresden, where her husband was last seen, she had heard nothing more of him except the terrible word "Missing", like countless others who perished in those two days of horror. - To each his own path of suffering is destined. Ours continued from here after a short interruption - the second escape.
May 11, 1945: Our direction was clear! "Back to the Reich" and if possible by the shortest route. But where and how? The main roads were all occupied by the military and the side roads and country lanes were partially blocked. So all that was left for us to do was to slowly make our way from village to village. And when evening came, the question arose again: where could we find a roof over our heads, if possible, where our tired limbs could rest overnight? It was a long way back to the homeland. Again the same words rang through my mind - the Silesian song: “Of you, of you alone I dream, my dear homeland.” This time I ask: where was the homeland? - occupied by the enemy, the foreign power. It was no more.
Spring came into the country. A hot day was behind us. And so we were already grateful that our second flight did not have to happen in winter, as it is written in the Scriptures! The weather remained kind to us, so that we made relatively good progress on our "treck" (although we wandered through the countryside like miserable gypsies for almost 4 weeks).
Theusing was behind us. The farmer who was supposed to bring us for the first stretch had abandoned us. I had not expected much good from him anyway. The day was drawing to a close and there was no place in sight to find shelter. The tired limbs did not want to function anymore after these first (at least) 20 km of day march. Where did our dear mother get the strength to do this? I realized that this could not go on for long and that I would soon have to find other ways to manage our strength more economically.
A half-ruined hut close to the roadside offered us a makeshift refuge in this first night. We let ourselves fall as we were, without sleeping bag, close to each other, on the hard ground of mother earth. We were together, healthy, and for this alone we were thankful again and again from the bottom of our hearts and continued to entrust our paths to Him above.
We experienced it abundantly every day again, how He protects and guides His children. A clear, starry sky shone above us and let its reflection shine down on us miserable ones through the half-open and decayed roof. Where was the sleep in these hours? Whereas most of our thoughts revolved around the thousand and one things of the past, experiences, and what lay ahead of us. We remained in a state of half-sleep, called back to reality by every strange sound in those nights, until finally the first dawn on the eastern firmament announced a new day.
It was good to revive the stiff limbs. After a short snack of what little we had, we continued our journey. The Bohemian Forest was still ahead of us and we wanted to cross the border as soon as possible. Probably not the shortest way we chose for this, but it seemed to us the safest.
Every day brought new surprises. Since the Sudeten government came into force, hatred and persecution were abound. Therefore, who could know what was still in store for many who were displaced, hungry and dependent only on the mercy of a good fellow human being? It remained the fate of countless who we met, wandering - fleeing in all directions like ants on a destroyed nest.
We found good people already in the evening of the second day - a teacher's family. They took us in, the children could have their care, a bath, and we a straw bed in the attic. So we went via Palos-Einsiedel to Sangerberg. We spent the night in a barn on the hillside, thunderstorms were around us, the wind moved the old walls, and the old barn doors creaked and groaned from time to time at midnight, as if the old spirits were coming back to life and going in and out. Eerie, who had ever witnessed something like that?! Mother had survived that night the best and laughed at us after our report in the morning. Rightly so, such sounds were foreign to her, she was hard of hearing!
The next destination was Königswart in the Bohemian Forest, already close to the border. We slowly got used to the countless obstacles and detours; "tree-barriers", which were once supposed to hold back the enemy were no longer obstacles for us, although they cost us a lot of time to get around them on mountain slopes. How we managed and mustered the strength, especially Mother, remains a wonder. Slowly but surely we approached the border. We passed through Schachten, Motzersreuth and Wernersreuth, where we always met friendly people in the evenings who took us in, gave us milk for the children to eat, and provided us with a bed of straw on the ground.
The closer we got to the border, the more the insecurity of the many refugees and displaced persons became noticeable. Each wanted to know from the other, where can I get across safely! Who could say? Some followed us, undecided, wandering around. Questioning, desolate figures with misery staring out of their eyes. - We met a run-down soldier in a torn gray uniform. He followed us; he, too, wanted to go back home, across the border, but there the enemy was waiting for anyone in "gray", collecting him for transport to the camp. Finally, not daring to go any further, he stayed behind and disappeared stealthily into the forest.
Airplanes circled overhead - a helicopter flying low. They knew everything, were aware of everything and had long since recognized us, as I realized after a few minutes when we finally got to the border and through the barrier and I showed my ID: "Oh yes, you three and the two kids, we know. Ok. Go ahead!" And with that we were back in the Reich on the 14th of May, ‘45. What could happen to us now? What a feeling! Most of the others did not manage so well, especially if they lacked an ID from the military authorities. And what helped the most – being able to communicate in English.
A greeting, a kind word to the Yank, it helped at times, made it easier for us to move along on our arduous trek. Or was it a little compassion when they spotted the two little ones bundled together in the wagon? Those were in good spirits and knew nothing of all that was going on in those weeks of the second flight.
Many another check-points were passed. - One sergeant was visibly pleased when he noticed that I could communicate with him in English. A poor old woman stood beside him, pleading and begging him to let her through to the next village. Hard-hearted and arrogant he appeared to me, waving his riding whip in front of her, he did not leave the best impression on me here as the victor over the defeated. I made it clear to him that she was going to pick up the medicine in the next village that was prescribed by the doctor for her terminally ill husband. He finally let her go and held me instead. He told me to get on his jeep and off I went to the mayor's office, where I attended his negotiations as an interpreter.
An hour passed, I returned, where I found Gerdchen, mother and the children with anxious and questioning looks. "Everything is all right!" We were allowed to go on our way! And all the others who had gathered in the meantime? They had to wait, the mayor was to provide quarters. - I can still see all the desolate looks and recognize the unspoken question in their faces: "Why can you go on and we are not allowed to?" –Move away quickly, further on, an inner voice told me. – Do not look back! That was hard for me. But then, with each step forward, our hearts grew lighter and a reassuring feeling of security came over me, a grateful deep sigh! We were, after all, on German soil. A new beginning could begin here, a new life. Perhaps there was still a purpose in this madness we were escaping? What else was to become of our children for whom we lived, cared for and considered our first and last task and obligation of our existence?
We trekked through the Fichtel Mountains and further on through the nicely situated villages of Schachten, Motzersreuth and Wernersreuth. A little girl ran towards me on the road. "You will come to us!”, and insisted that we should come along. We were welcomed by a nice farmer's wife. Quickly the table was set and we were soon sitting at a table richly laid for us. The usual conversation went on, “where to, where from”, and incidentally the question: "How did it happen that you came to us tonight?" Embarrassed answer: "Wasn't it your daughter through whom you invited us in and welcomed us?" She laughed and explained, "Ah, that is it! Many refugees have been our guests so far, and when my little daughter sees them passing outside, she calls out, "Come in, come to us!" In this way, the little angel met us and they shared with us the "bread and oil in the jar" as long as there was still enough to share.
Elsewhere it was a farmer who gave us nice accommodations. On May 18, in Bischofsgrün, farmer Hermann let us sleep in his beds, for the first time in weeks a feather bed, a bath and great food as we had not had in a long time. They even insisted that we should stay another day, but we did not want to take advantage of their kindness and hospitality any further; there were so many others who could be helped in the same way. - What they still had, they shared with those who knocked on their door and that as long as the supply lasted. This was their motto!
We were glad and grateful when we found a simple bed of straw to which we were used to by now, somewhere in a barn in the evening, and then, for a change, a bed in an inn, where an evening meal was served. - So it happened on Ascension Day in Himmelkron. Two rooms were at our disposal. The next day we were able to get our first ration stamps for bread and sausage at the local government office.
But it was slow going; poor Grandma had no longer the strength: "Oh, leave me here; go ahead without me!" Unthinkable. But the feet simply could not go on. To give her some relief, she sat down on my cobbled-together 2-wheeled cart, bag underneath, and so we went on for stretches until we reached Kulmbach, despite Grandma's protests
In the meantime, we had found out a lot of things! About "motor pools" for transport where, for a long time already, no train was running anymore, even the milk wagon was used by many to get from place to place. We also received a better passport here, which entitled us to move on unhindered as far as the Rhineland. We left after taking Grandma to the departure point of the milk wagon, she could ride to the next town and rest at the station. And as arranged, we met up again here after our day's march. It went well and saved Grandma the agony of the march. This provided us with a welcome opportunity for Mother to ease the agony of the daily hard marches. We took her to the departure point and were able to meet her again rested in the evening at an arranged place, usually at the desolate train station of the next town. It also made my heart feel lighter. This way we could move faster. So we met again joyfully for the first time in the evening in Kronach, where we also stayed overnight.
And on we went; in the morning, Grandma got into her car again and we continued on the long march; next station: Knellendorf. In a dark barn we found shelter. The milk truck transportation remained a great help until we reached Sonneberg on May 23. This time we found shelter in a school with completely smashed windows that had been reserved for refugees. - Impossible for the children. Ternow's quarters were set up in the "Kaiserhof" the next day. “Emperor’s quarters” indeed! Refugees had seized it. - A huge stove in the kitchen ensured that every poor person got his pot of porridge boiling, and if only unobserved for a minute, found it cold somewhere else in a corner. The beds - who had not lain in it without cover. - Here, too, the war had left its mark.
Grandma was completely exhausted. Gerdchen's wrist was in pain, as if broken, her feet sore, without the insoles she needed. - We had reached the state of beggars. The last flour was rolled into dough with water from the washing commode, the last small bread for the weekend; the stores all closed. Only Monday we could get new stamps for food rations, and then the queues - queuing - endless waiting. I at the bakery, Gerdchen at the butcher’s, and Grandma with the kids - sick in bed. What was to become of us?
4 days passed in this state. The next day it was said: at 5:30 in the morning, stand-by for a truck leaving in the direction of Weimar. - In vain, early rising, long waiting. No truck comes. Back to the Kaiserhof! A ½ pound of butter and sausage is the result of hours of waiting in a queue. The next morning, the journey is supposed to continues to Neuenburg a.d. Saale - waiting, waiting - grueling - the hours pass and another day passes in vain.
Finally, on May 30, at 6 o'clock in the morning, we hitchhike to Camburg. Fully loaded, the wagon sways, full of women, men, children - bundles, boxes, baby carriages; like sardines, but we are happy that we are moving forward. Then, at 1 o'clock, we stop again; coffee is served, a little something to eat, everyone enjoyed it! And once again we changed trains. We reached Naumburg almost in flight!
Here we started again with our foot march, via Weißenfels to Halle, where we found our grandmother again in the late afternoon at the station bunker. We had to stay here overnight. It was as if walking into a waking nightmarish dream when we entered these underground chambers - a bunker. Filled with foul stench, stale air – people - people from all walks of life - stretched out - crisscrossed. There was no place for us to sleep, only the last corner of a bench next to a miserable figure! We were in the center of Germany, where no city had escaped the ravages of countless bombings. - With the first light of day, we were out of there to get a place on the next train, which was deployed outside the destroyed station. - We arrived in Könnern to walk the last stretch of the way on May 31, 1945, through green fields and tempting cherry alleys to Kleinpaschleben.
We had found each other again! Anni and her 4 children with her parents. In all the simplicity she had found refuge here. Where was Johannes? Months had passed and no sign of life from the East. There remained a long waiting and hoping - was he still alive? In captivity?
Mother had reached the end of her strength. Until here and no further, or was there still hope to go back to Silesia to her little house? The thought of being completely uprooted, lost happiness, expelled, homeless, was doubly hard to bear for an older person. We, the younger ones, still had the strength to live and we could start a new life, whatever it might be - it would happen with God's will. How gladly we would have taken Mother with us to the West Zone, but her decision was firm - to stay with Anni and the children. And Johannes, would he come? She wanted to see him once more.
So we too had to make a decision. Although Anni asked us to stay, my decision was firm - to go on to the West. It was said that the Russians would also occupy this part here, where the Americans were still at the moment. It became serious, and we knew from experience that in this case no easy escape was possible. With everything prepared, a wagon ordered for the early morning at 6 a.m. on June 11, 1945, that was to take us the first stretch towards the Harz Mountains to Brandenburg, came the hour of a farewell that so far became the most difficult of my life.
We had packed our bundles anew and loaded up our "precious possessions". - The dear, old mother stood at the end of the road and looked up at us once more, here where our paths were to part forever. - What misery lay behind her. Ups and downs and all the horrors of the last time; too much of all that! She bore it with patience, just like her physical disability - her hearing - which had deteriorated even more, and she was excluded from many conversations, especially a conversation in company, often lonely and withdrawn. This physical ...
end of part 2
English translation part 3 (pages 1-28)
pages 1-3
How did it come about that the wall and thousand-kilometer-long barbed wire entanglements and, finally, minefields were erected as a border across my fatherland?
Germany lay dismembered on the ground and the Russians got the Eastern part and occupied it. The borders were still partly open and thus, a possibility for the politically persecuted as well as for the hundreds of thousands of enslaved people to escape from the ruling communist system. Thousands, even millions, left everything and fled to the West.
How could this state of affairs be stopped? In East Germany, the danger of depopulation loomed; how could the administration counter it? These were the first concerns of the Russian rulers. They needed the people as slaves, the labor force, to squeeze out the last of what was left. - Where were the intelligentsia, doctors, technicians, and all the people who were otherwise necessary? They disappeared overnight and their number increased from month to month. Who did not risk everything to save the most precious thing, freedom? Here was the last opportunity - escape to the West. And who did not use it in this 12th hour, bitterly regretted it in later years.
Who was responsible for what happened here and in the following establishment of this "forced labor camp" for 16 million German citizens who were left? Negotiations between the occupying powers, the USA and the Russian administrative system, were currently underway. - Potsdam remained the historical place where they met and where also the "concern" about this condition between "Father Stalin" and the generous President Truman was discussed. "Why not build a wall!" spoke Truman, "very simple!" Stalin did not need a second hint and gave the order to his executioners to carry it out.
With this acquittal of the victorious powers began one of the greatest tragedies of the postwar period for the German people. The division of my fatherland into two halves and the enslavement of the Eastern provinces with their 16 million citizens, behind walls and barbed wire, is a crime which violates the primitive laws of all human rights. Who remembers today this tragedy that took place here. One has the feeling that this state of affairs is now considered quite normal by the world public.
While politicians in Washington keep their mouths very full and get very excited about the most internal affairs of other nations, East Germany remains untouched under the pressure of the communists. And Russia calmly continues to work in the enslavement of other peoples, - disregarding the "Helsinki Agreement", unconcerned and thus doing only what leads to its own advantage and achievement of world domination, disregarding what it co-signed as part of an international "understanding".
And still the cruel venture is repeated, where German citizens try to escape from the East to the West. How many who tried to gain their freedom sacrificed their lives, got shot, bled to death in the barbed wire, or lay torn apart on the minefield. And those who helped one or the other to escape were arrested and sentenced to long prison terms. - Millions of D-Marks have been paid within the last few years by the West German government and private parties to the East German government for the "ransom" of these poor people; - twenty thousand D-Marks is the average price, extortion money (bounty) in this modern "slave ransom" for the failed escape attempt of one of these poor people.
Who would like to live under this brutal communist rule? - Three times I narrowly escaped this brutal system. The first time from Bunzlau, our home, fleeing from the Russian armies, leaving behind everything we owned. Theusing in the Sudetenland (Czechoslovakia) followed, and once again Kleinpaschleben, one day before the invasion of Russian occupation forces. - Three times was enough. We had lost everything to save our bare life, our freedom. For me it meant the last, the most precious thing that I and my loved ones still possessed.
Is there still a meaning to all of this, I sometimes asked myself. Where was the security to start a normal life anew. Was Hamburg also only a temporary place of residence? As the ever uprooted, did we belong to a special group, condemned to pay the ultimate price for a lost war? Earthly it looked like it, but faith was stronger in view of the future, and God led us right. - As a displaced person from the East, I soon registered at the opening of the new emigrant quotas at the U.S. General Consulate. Was there an open door here after all? I hardly dared to pursue this thought further -- years were to pass.
______________________________________________________________________________
pages 4-10
January 15, 1979
The Poor Millionaire
We all became poor after the lost 1st World War and yet again rich as never before. I was even able to collect the money, but not in the money box or in the bank, it was other interests that were on my mind at that time as an apprentice boy.
We drudges had to deliver many a beautiful piece of furniture to the distinguished clientele. That often happened, and the customers often showed themselves noble and generous with a "tip". - I did not spend it on drink, instead, I "collected" the money. Ten or twenty thousand Reichsbank-notes, later also a fifty thousand Mark-notes were no rarity, and in the following months even the double or triple - even tenfold. - Such a tip, without feeling ashamed, I took it without blushing! What times those were!
"I became a millionaire!" How had I earned such a thing? Then, when inflation reached its peak, I had a "high quality" and interesting collection of all banknotes, which had everything, from one Reichsmark to billions. Similarly, I had a stamp collection up to the time when a simple letter was franked and carried the value of literally a hundred thousand and more Marks.
Will we have to experience something similar again? Are we not already on the best way there? Here in the U.S., "History Repeats Itself!" - The devaluation of the "almighty Dollar" is taking rapid strides. - Bill Poterson, a former neighbor from Malcolm Ave. in L.A., now in Gibraltar, just wrote me an interesting report, among other things: "The same house as ours that we had once bought for $17,500, is across the street and sold today for $78,000." - How much will it be worth when it changes hands the next time? This is just a small example. - Here is actually a possibility to become a "millionaire" again without any effort. And again an old saying proves its validity: "America, it remains the country of the unlimited possibilities.”
December 12, 1980
Today it is already nothing new to talk about millionaires and multimillionaires. The army of millionaires grows from month to month. Where is the value of the "almighty Dollar"?
"The paradox - the big lie in our modern society" (page 6)
1. ??
2. save money! Spend
3. the youth: Individuality equals Conformity
4. politics: tobacco cultivation and subsidization - warnings and taxes
5. rest of page is in English
(pages 7-10)
1980
- Reflections -
We live today in an age, a world, where old traditions, which represented so far normal and healthy traditions of our civilization, are thrown aside. Where this development, let's say "degeneracy" is to lead, makes us afraid of the future!
Mankind is in a stream which threatens to take everything with itself and offers no more support for the big masses. So it looks in our present! The materialism takes over, while the spiritual values, the purpose of our existence, find hardly more meaning. One sees how people numb their senses, and in many cases are driven astray to a frightening degree into actions that were previously unthinkable.
How much longer! God has patience with us. Man has become the greatest enemy to himself, in the conflict against himself and his own sinful works, which can only lead to destruction. I think of the growing generation, our grandchildren, how quickly they grow up. What have we not gone through on our pilgrimage here on earth - wars, flight, deprivation, hardships of all kinds. Who has ever known such things here in the hitherto so blessed land of earthly goods? A nation continues to live blindly in "luxury". How much longer? The writing is on the wall, clear and plain, yet unheeded!
Thousands of unsolved questions and problems which accumulate more and more, pile up like heavy thunderclouds in front of us; is this the inheritance which we leave to our children to solve, or are we already on the verge of the outbreak and collapse of a Western civilization? The decline of the Occident. Does not much point in this direction?
The uncertainty of the people’s situation, the inflation, is progressing rapidly. The devaluation of the "almighty Dollar", and the greed of a class which seeks to enrich itself from all the vices, crimes, sins, diseases and fears of mankind, is the order of the day. It has become the greatest exploitation and extortion racket in our history, where banks, lawyers, doctors, hospitals and those who under the guise of welfare exploit everything to live splendidly and seize riches. - Inflation is increasing, salaries and wages are rising inexorably.
Where does that leave the older class, which can no longer keep pace with these conditions; those who thought they were secure in their twilight years and now see their hopes fading. "History repeats itself." And it is also proving true: America, the land of "unlimited possibilities" does have limits, from its glorious heights to unimagined depths. - How quickly the picture has changed in this blessed country; where power and greed of many interest groups in all government circles have taken over the supremacy and the decision of laws. The trust of the people is slowly fading amid the constant contradictions of their deputies and elected officials. It is no longer the service to the people and an orderly democracy, how down to the lowest departments the state employees and teachers at the post office and schools go on strike and force their demands. Here leaves us order and discipline without which a state can no longer function in the long term. - These are only a few characteristics that point us in the direction in which we are heading. –
"Freedom", yes freedom is the big word. Freedom in all areas. And especially there, where man can let off steam, pursue his immoral vices, sex, and almost animal lusts. - Laws for freedom are many, even for the criminal, the murderer, he gets his rights and his freedom. But who asks about the victims, hundreds of thousands every year, and the surviving relatives? Freedom beckons the murderer sometimes already after few years. The death penalty was abolished by the Supreme Court, but became by popular vote a law again in many states, - but "never executed!"
Laws of the supreme court appear in great contradiction with the will of the people. Where is justice when the judgment of one Court is thrown overboard by the next higher, and the murderer in many cases is set free again only because he is defended by one of the "most cunning lawyers"?
The $ speaks the decisive role in all elections of our people's representatives; rarely the personality, the honest character of a candidate. - Whoever has the most financial resources comes to office, with millions spent in the public campaign. - One clearly knows and is aware that after the "bought victory" enormous sums of money will replenish the bank accounts in double measure in a short time. - The "biggest game" of politics pays off and teaches us how they became "big and rich".
Even here, in this quiet circle of people among whom we live today, the symptoms of our present become visible. A state enterprise, a shipyard, employs well over 20 thousand employees of all strata; it is not the people on the very top of this hierarchy that we encounter here. They are easily recognized, a calm and even-tempered type, all of whom find sustenance at an abundantly blessed feeding trough. "Uncle Sam" (the government) takes good care of its members, in every way. Just as the annual salary increase in the House of Representatives and the Senate is granted without much fuss, so here, too, in the lower classes, it is planned so that no one comes up short, everyone gets his due. The work well divided, the spare time very well used; this all belongs to the war economy, is urgently necessary for the defense.
The annual budget is almost 50% of the total government spending. There is no worry, the money is there for it, the taxpayer has to take care of it. And if that is not enough, the money printing press goes into action. No, a government employee will not be short on money. The sources have not failed yet and the energy of the faithful are being preserved with plentifully provided vacations and recovery breaks, needless it remains to mention, the many holidays, which are entitled to the servants of the people. - They need the rest more than ever from the "strenuous service" at the desks and in the workshops.
High is the number of those who retire early, or are preparing to do so. A small careless accident, a sore backbone and other things after years of public service make it easier and sometimes faster to leave this ‘club’; after all, it promises a good accident and state pension for the rest of one's life. - No, not only that, only then can the real work begin on which one has concentrated for so long. – Blessed is he who found admission to this state club of Uncle Sam early in his young years.
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p11-28
Beginning missing
... for the most part still a huge pile of rubble. I saw no disadvantages in this new decision. On the contrary, it had many good sides. The children could grow up in free nature, and above all, in the midst of a Christian environment. - One thing I had noticed during my first visit was that people lived here who were serious, with a pastor like Brother Sieburger and his preaching of the Word, which was also a blessing to us. With this observation, all the doubts that still existed gave way and we could look forward to the future with a clear view. The first preparations began. I was to have my own business. Machines and tools, where from? Funds from a Ford donation from the USA for refugee aid were available. I traveled to the Rhineland. In Düsseldorf I found what I later needed to set up the business.
The time of our departure came in the late fall of 1950. Good and bad days were behind us, we had met new friends, and that during the extreme low of my existence, the imprisonment in the Neuengamme camp. Here, where people in need and in often almost hopeless conditions had to get along together, some learned to appreciate the other in comradeship and friendship - Heinrich Gotze, Herbert Blunert, a senior teacher who had been bombed out. We were allowed to stay with them overnight during the last days. He had no apartment anymore, only a divided classroom of a school was the abode of his family of 4. A fully loaded truck with our jumbled belongings was ready to be loaded at the freight station. So many things that had accumulated in the past 5 years. - Off to Alexisdorf.
My attic apartment, which I had so painstakingly rebuilt myself, was advertised for sale, and I found no difficulty in finding buyers in the prevailing housing shortage. But for the right customer, the housing office had a final word to say. That is, who would be the next occupant of my apartment - a roof over the head.
Alexisdorf had not made too friendly an impression on my first visit. This thought plagued me the closer the train brought us to our new home. The landscape became barren. - The Weser- Emsland with its flat areas, pastures, fields and then finally a monotonous picture of moor and heath. Tree growth, which helps to give the landscape a friendlier face, was missing. And what would Gerdchen say, once we had to move into one of these barrack rooms that would serve us "for the time being" as a makeshift home? A disappointment, an imposition? I was afraid. We, who were not at all spoiled, after all that lay behind us, were supposed to find our way around here? Brother Arnstatt, the old, dear "patriarch," took us lovingly into his family for the first few days. The girls arrived a few days later and we settled in, more or less, at our new home.
The thought that this would not be a permanent condition and at most last for 6 months lightened our minds, and we lived as Christians. Half a year, it became an experience in itself that slowly unfolded like a colorful picture book before our eyes. Unfortunately, it did not always show its best colors. Here we lived with a few dozen families under one roof, poor displaced people, uprooted like us and millions of others, and still – they were not the poorest among those.
In the years to come, many of them would once again own their own land. Others emigrated to Canada. A huge program in the reclamation of the formerly barren moor and swamp lands had begun in the Weserland. Drainage canals crisscrossed the terrain. It was highly interesting to see how, between two powerful steam engines, a plow pulled back and forth on a cable through the moorland, overturning clods of sand and peat soil up to 2 meters deep and turning it into fertile farmland. Large areas of land became arable in this way. Thus, a new landscape slowly emerged, with its settlement at the core - Neugnadenfeld.
I experienced how the first buildings rose on this newly won earth. I helped, because one supported the other and lent a hand where it was needed. This also kept me very busy from morning to evening. Our own construction was not to begin for some time yet. But when the time came, there were also enough hands to help, the Jahnke family and others with whose construction I had helped before.
The time up to the beginning of our new building remained a laborious and sometimes persistent negotiation, particularly with the responsible representatives of the Meppen district administration. I was speechlessly surprised - almost despondently disappointed, when I checked the first plans for our house! - We were to live in such a building in the future? - I changed the plans as best I could, enlarged the workshop, and submitted them back to the office with an accompanying letter.
I soon got to know our government councilor Dr. D. Schulze. I encountered arrogance and presumptuousness during this first discussion. After all these years, one sentence of the government councilor still rings in my ears: "Mr. Ternow, I thought you would fall on your knees before me that you would receive a settlement at all!” Who could have expected this? I had never heard or experienced anything like this in my life. I had ended up in a hornet's nest. It was not ingratitude that led to a conflict between my ideas and the gentlemen when I presented them with my building plans. A new building of the late 20th century, without a bathroom-washroom, without a flush toilet, with the door to the cow barn from the kitchen (probably very practical) - was impossible for me. And many other things, that were really based on purely practical considerations, were completely missing here. –
Were we refugees second- or third-class citizens? Or did they want to put us on an equal footing with the small farmers of this area? The typical Emsland farmer, he lived in contented circumstances that were still 100 years back. I got to know them in their houses. There, as mentioned, not much of modern live was to be found; let alone any sing of “cultivation of home decor” or a “living culture”. Here, where still half a pig, the ham, hung in a corner from the kitchen ceiling, surrounded by swarms of flies from the adjacent cow and pig sty, where the thick maggots, that, when fat and stuffed, fell to the ground and escaped. I will hardly ever forget this first insight into a farmstead. No, - I was not used to such things and had no desire to become used to this.
And so, the cold war between Dr. D. and comrades versus interior designer Ternow had begun and it remained a spot of tension for a long time. In the following months it soon became clear to me that a warmer climate could only be achieved by sharing schnapps and beer in an inn. Even if I showed no interest in this, or the opportunity presented itself, slowly but surely I reached my goal. My wishes had to be taken into account in the end. –
The time came when the first bricks and cement blocks arrived on the building site. How many loads had to be unloaded from the nearby barges on the Coevorden-Piccardie canal and brought to the construction site by light railcars. It remained a laborious work, sometimes into the late evening hours, with sore fingers from the cement blocks that were handed from hand to hand in a long line of helpers. How many gloves were destroyed here! - And Gerdchen held her own. She was also in the midst of this and worked hard.
If in the circles of these new settlers I was silently regarded as a maverick, because word soon got around what my opinion was, it had its good consequences in the end. It was remarkable how other building plans changed and humane dwellings appeared. And even if I saw the disfavor of the settlement society abundantly directed at me, the purpose was fulfilled, and many a one who saw his house build up later was silently grateful to me.
Sweat and hard work remained until the last roof tile, which brought the exterior to completion. The Weser-Emsland weather was not too kind to us during this period. I still remember the storms that raged from the north over the wide barren spaces and brought the freshly built rooftop to collapse, and that also threatened to tear off the roofs from the barracks. This happened later even to our new building.
Then there were days when it seemed almost impossible to continue working on the construction. The progress was slow and our patience was tested. The barracks life, something completely unfamiliar, contributed in part to this feeling. The one single dark room available to us did not help either. What was not all living here under one roof in this confinement; a community of people, thrown together, that had to find a way to get along. We met many who remained strangers to us for a long time, in their nature and in the characteristics of their daily life that I could observe here in the midst of them. But nonetheless, we slowly found our way in the knowledge that this also would pass.
New surprises arose frequently. "Pets" had joined us in setting up their habitat in these barracks, in our little world, or were already firmly seated when we took possession. It was a most unfriendly encounter. We had to enter the fight - and remained winners! But only after all weapons failed and as a last resort, poisoning with DTT, a donation from America, succeeded. That this weapon itself could become dangerous to us, while everything around us was destroyed, we did not suspect at that time.
In the religious field we found two divided factions. In our barracks we had the opportunity, through indirect participation, to listen to the evening meetings of the "Pentecostal movement". The meetings often extended into the midnight hour and the volume increased to the point of frightening our children, even the adults close by, who had to listen to such abundance and exuberance. Strange, all the different people who got together here. I felt strange when for the first time I had to hear and literally listen to something so completely foreign like that religious sect. The climax of the "music”, the singing with an alleged "speaking in tongues" seemed uncanny to us. But we also got used to this with time.
Under such circumstances, everyone knew what the other roommate was doing. - And if he was not completely clear about the most private things and circumstances, the dear neighbor soon discovered with an always watchful eye and sense what his fellow man was doing. Already early in the morning it began! - On a little place known to all of us, that everyone used to visit from time to time, a number of older and younger women gathered together; for one must have whispered it to the other. One of them even had a chair quickly at hand to climb up and see what and who was hiding behind a cell wall. After everyone here had quietly convinced themselves and satisfied their curiosity, they gently left the poor young "toilet snorer" alone until dawn opened his eyes. - Poor primitive people. -
Most of the other residents considered us strangers, at least we did not belong to their groups, but we slowly got to know them, one by one. Among them poor Brothers and Sisters with the same worries and questions of life, poor and alone. - It is already late. The children are getting ready to sleep. Suddenly, an old woman appears, wrapped in a headscarf, a long black skirt and blouse and wooden shoes, in her everyday cloths that are typical for her home in the East. - She enters without knocking and silently sits down on the chair near the door, the only place that is free. I greet her, look and wait, but no sound, no sign of what is coming. The children close by, already in bed behind the curtain, half thrown back, get spooked. "Well, how are you?" I finally say to break the silence. - Not a sound! - "Well, what's new?" – Silence! – “Let her rest, the poor woman", I think. - Finally, after a long pause, the first sentence: "Can you lend me some money?" - I had no earnings for 6 months and received government support myself. How could I fulfill her wish? She stayed sitting for a long time although we wanted to go to sleep.
Many of these old people lived in their own closed world and could no longer find their way, much less adapt to this world. And did we not feel the same way? Brother G. was the first to give us good advice and to assign us a place to store the winter supply of potatoes (outside). On this occasion we met a dear family, Brother and Sister M. with little daughter Hilde, and a much better place was assigned to us by him. We spent many a pleasant evening hour with them, during which he told us about the good and the bad days of his life. He let me have my say now and then and often interrupted me with a strong remark, incomprehensible to me, which I understood in his somewhat Eastern dialect of speech as "Satan!". Did I hear right? How could he let loose such an expression of "astonishment" every few moments? And this in the Christian atmosphere of his family!? No, something was wrong here and I considered it my duty to point out to him what seemed so strange and incomprehensible to me here. A suddenly puzzled, questioning look met mine. - "I don't quite understand!" was his reply. "What should I have said?" A brief, serious reflection - and there, a grin all over his face. "Only now I understand you. You mean "Sagan," an expression of astonishment common at home!" Here was a little misunderstanding. Quickly clarified. - "Sagan!" - "Satan!" - We all laughed heartily.
The construction proceeded briskly, despite some incidents and small obstacles. Winter, the rainy season, came too early and put us further behind. The cellar was full of water and, as fate would have it, a curious trespassing "inspector", and that just had to be Brother Wiedman, took an icy bath in that cellar pit in all darkness due to a careless step on our new building site. Not that he ever complained to me about it, that would have been even more painful for him. But fortunately, someone helped him out of the pit, and the matter quickly made the rounds to the amusement of many and with condolences to this "deep fall" from those who daily visited his grocery store.
The construction slowly approached its completion. The "Richtfest" (topping out ceremony), an old German tradition, with the wreath over the roof ridge, kept the masons and carpenters in good spirits. It was celebrated! We could not escape this beautiful custom. - A good meal and the accompanying "drinks" as the main attraction, had to be presented! Brother Wiedman had offered to reserve us some "real good stuff" from the stock of his ‘juice shop’. It served its purpose. It quenched the thirst and raised the spirits of the journeymen carpenters and masons.
A few days passed. The "topping-out ceremony" was behind us, and there, what I had no idea about before, suddenly came to me as a revelation. I had to be told: "Brother Ternow, you have obtained "Moonshine" from the Neugnadenfeld Brothers!" What Brothers? Had I understood correctly? I did not think it possible. Not long ago, some of these "moonshiners" had been summoned to court to answer. They had thought nothing wrong of their activity. After all, they were used to making moonshine in their former homeland in Poland. The judge dealt with them graciously on this occasion because of this! But now I had to listen to something like a well-meant moral sermon from our dear Brother Sieburger: "And you, Brother T., how could you have supported all this?" - How could I know from which stock this hooch came. It had not been recognizable from any label on the bottles. - Brother Wiedman had put me in a very bad light with his statements. Could I express my real opinion about this Brother? - Moonshine was no longer! Sister Rahn now had this business legally and firmly in hand in her inn. But not the drinking among some of the "quiet connoisseurs", which Mrs. Rahn took care of in her pub. And indeed, there were two factions in this otherwise so peaceful community! The teetotalers fought hard for their cause. And just imagine, there were even "incidents". –
Weddings were celebrated according to old custom. There was still no hall in place for such and similar celebrations. They took place after the church wedding in a barrack hall in the evening with dance and merry get-together. Why not! "But how can man celebrate here in peace if the evil neighbor does not like it!" - Once again the invited guests were together on a balmy summer night and great festivity reigned among those present, and for the young bride and groom certainly an eventful end to the day. The windows of the hall were wide open and the joyful sounds poured out in the wide perimeter of the camp. But what happened soon after remains indescribable. This had long been a thorn in the side of old Mr. St. next door, and he must have wondered how to put a stop to it all. So an idea quickly matured into action. - From a full pit he scooped out a bucket full, and suddenly, in a wide arc through an open window, in the midst of this merry society, poured "something" not to be named here. The wedding celebration, in the scent of roses and perfume, came to an all too quick memorable end on that balmy summer night.
After the completion of the final construction work in June 1950, we were able to move into our new house. What a difference! How grateful we were to have our own home. There were still many small things to be done in the house. I entrusted Brother Rüster with the painting of all the rooms, and a friendly home now stood where just a year ago a barren peat and swamp area seemed unfriendly. A large garden with several acres of land. On July 17, 1950, the opening of the carpentry store took place. In a simple ceremony with Brothers Sieburger, Underling and Arnstadt and the first apprentices and journeymen, the foundation stone was laid for a new beginning. And the verses "Where my feet go, what my hands work; praise the Lord and bless my deeds" from our old Brethren hymnal, rang through the workroom. A quiet morning devotion at the beginning of this day full of memories.
Outside, the land lay fallow and was waiting to be cultivated and planted. The heaviest work, plowing and sowing, was done by Brother Gehr with the community tractor, which made things easier for the smallholder settlers. Although I did not know much about active farm work, and even less did Gerdchen, we had committed ourselves to do our best for the first years. What we then later had in mind with it, was left to us (so we were indirectly given to understand by the cultural office). First and foremost, it was about building up my independence, a business and the workshop, and secondly, about fulfilling my agricultural obligations at the same time.
This meant something completely new for us "city dwellers". In the second year we could already bring a good rye and potato harvest under roof. - The cornfield was ripe for harvesting. According to the usual custom, the mowing began around the edges of the field, which the reaper with the scythe started early in the morning. Only then came the machine, quickly followed by the two of us gathering and tying the cut ears by hand into thick sheaves. The grain shocks were lined up in rows, as was familiar to me from my youth in our country side. It was for me, and especially Gerda, a new, unfamiliar work; not easy in the midsummer heat that prevailed on that day.
In spite of all the good will a person could muster, Gerdchen had taken on too much. I should have known better. - The field work, plus the heat, she suddenly blacked out; a fainting fit. Almost at the end she fell into my arms. Then we sat at the field edge; for how long? There they stood, the sheaves with the ripe ears, the first harvest, our blessing. And the very next day the threshing machine stood in front of the door. The wagons fully loaded close beside it. And again my Gerdchen stood - this time high up on the machine, and cut the sheaves, on and on, unstoppable, handing them over to the next one that let them disappear between the whirling dust into the maw of the thresher. I stood at the other end and saw how slowly one bag after another was filled with the golden harvest and carried it to the attic.
The potato harvest, how would it turn out? We were already a little worried in the spring. The first sprouts that had broken through the earth here and there with their greenery offered a picture of confidence. Soon the field was adorned in green; in full growth. - But what were those interesting little black and orange striped beetles? So cute to watch at first glance. At a next meeting with my neighbors, the conversation happened to come to this observation in my field. - "Colorado potato beetles!" is what I hear him say. - Colorado potato beetle? I had never heard of them in Germany. So that is what they looked like! They could eat a field in a short time and disappear again in the ground, laying their eggs for a new brood, which then continued the mischief the next year with newly united forces. How had this plague naturalized itself in Germany?
A total and lost 2nd world war lay not yet many years behind us; it had resulted in a devastation of many cities with bomb carpets. "Total war" meant "By whatever means!" And the potato beetle was conscripted in this war and dropped during the fight behind the fronts in our fields. The "potato." How could a Germany continue to exist without the potato, which was the main vegetable on every family's table at almost every meal? The enemy was well informed about this, too. –
So we learned about this illegal immigrant, which became a great danger and spread. Already after a few days we saw a devastating effect. It was high time and a quick declaration of war was now necessary. A new war began. Rosemarie and Waltraud were our two rescuers. Equipped with tin cans, they searched row after row and were rewarded for it. For the chickens there was a fat meal on the first day, but after they realized that it was not "corn kernels", we found no more helpfulness among them. We became masters of the situation. Unfortunately, not every farmer did his duty to eradicate the plague once and for all, so the whole field had to be sprayed several times. The children were happy when this freed them from their search and allowed them to pursue their play. - The harvest was abundant and good. – Even the 2 piglets that were grunting in the barn, waiting to be fattened prospered well. - So began the fat years after all the lean times that lay behind us.
The first two typical black and white "Emsländer piglets" I had bought from a local farmer. He wished me luck and success with the animals after the trade was completed, but he did not think much of us settlers with our strange methods of agriculture and animal husbandry. - And rightly so! What did I know about dealing with pigs? Gerdchen did her best. Every day, buckets of potatoes were boiled, mixed with rye meal and fed. Lakustus and Jasphia (unsure of names) thrived splendidly. Our farmer came by one day with a chair for repair. He inquired about his brood and I showed him what was developing in the sty. I still see how his eyes grew big and bigger. These were supposed to be his piglets of yore? Astonishment! - I had to explain to him the recipe of our feeding, because he had not yet bred such magnificent sows in his barn after this short time. They brought it on something over 2 Centner. One was sold, the other consumed for sausage and ham, which we had not seen for years, let alone tasted. Master butcher E. understood his business 100% in this case. Also from the next breeding, splendid specimens came out. Only one had eaten itself "too full" in the first weeks. The poor animal lay dead in the stable one morning.
They were clean, intelligent animals; I always felt sorry for them when they went on their last walk. I saw to their welfare, their access to the outdoors, every week. Then we went through the open countryside, an outing they were always waiting for with eagerness, where they enjoyed their natural freedom. - Even the children had a lot of fun: Who do I see through the window? Rosemarie riding on Lakustus at a pig gallop in the back of the garden! No wonder that later the last trot, over to Epping's slaughterhouse, became a sad memory.
Each animal had its own name. Even of every chicken, of the Gold Collar, Fuzzy Comb, or the Golden Hen with the golden eggs was often spoken of! They all wanted to have their outing too. And that took place very soon too often - over to the vegetable garden. The fence was high and still no obstacle for these birds to fly out, until I unceremoniously clipped their right wing. That was also when the proud rooster stopped visiting the neighbor's coop, where he was supposedly having a little affair with a favorite strange hen. - He always had a "chosen one", so there was often a fight until the right one appeared on the roost close to him when he went to sleep; and until this happened, there was always a spectacle that could be observed.
I had foregone the donation of a New Jersey cow in favor of others. The animals had been imported by plane to Northern Germany. The once intended cow shed next to our kitchen had already been converted into something better, a bathroom. Chickens, goslings, a rabbit, the pig breeding, and our black dear Kitty called "Panther", provided plenty of work and distractions without also having to milk and feed a cow.
I slowly had to start devoting myself more to the business interests. The furniture business that Gerdchen had taken over promised us success. Finished kitchens and living room cabinets were selling well. Whole bedroom furnishings on the other hand, that was a risk. Should we try the extended trade? A truck with 5 bedrooms is at the door one fine day. A risky decision - should I take a chance? - They were all sold. –
No matter how small the trade, it brought in more than enough work. The old saying remained true. One room of our house had to be cleared for storage space and to set up the stuff, our bedroom! Ternow's modern patent folding beds offered a good solution for this purpose for space savings. The most popular items were the beautiful Schlaraffia mattresses, a previously unknown brand in our area. How much comfort they brought to many a new home!
One thing was bothering me a lot. Our roof was not completely tight and needed a thorough inspection. What third-grade material had been used there, with cracks and holes where the rain dripped through the roof tiles and ceiling in countless places. "It'll go away with time, once the dust and spider webs settle!" the contractor indicated to me with a friendly expression. "Spiders were supposed to seal my roof!" Where has there ever been such a thing? "Ternow was on the black list of these crooks and gave them a hard time." - according to Dr. Schulz. - That explanation really sounded like a fairy tale. I insisted! - The roof was re-roofed.
I had no dry place to stack the wet lumber from my storage room until that time, so necessary for all the construction work that was coming to completion - windows for a number of new buildings. It was set up to dry anywhere where there was a heat source or warm, dry corner. Even in the living room around the small tiled stove a drying storage area was set up.
There were still many hurdles to overcome in the course of the following years. My business was equipped with all modern machines and tools to perform any type of work. Only the finishing, painting, and staining work caused difficulties. A dust-free, enclosed space was urgently needed for the spraying process with compressor for finishing. Construction began again and so a side wing was built on the main building. Except for the masonry work, everything else was done by ourselves. In a short time, the annex was ready and the first serial production of cribs could now begin. - It was not earthly riches that we acquired in Neugnadenfeld. Effort and hard work lay behind everything we did, but all the work was also graced by blessings.
The small village grew. Whole streets gave testament to the diligence of the people who found a new home here. Many things were still planned, a church in the center, a parsonage. Church services were still held in a large barrack hall. A lot of blessing was done here through the preaching on Sundays, the Bible lessons and the singing which I knew well from my childhood in the Brethren Church.
Brother Sibmeyer (Sichmeyer?), our venerable pastor was familiar with his congregation and knew each individual. We met often and became friends through an inward bond. In spite of some disturbances that unfortunately arose in the last year of our stay, it remained a cordial understanding and I owe to him a coming closer to and inner growth in Christian life through the preaching of the Word. - We got to know other brothers and sisters, dear people; many of them are no longer in this oh-so-peaceless world. – These days, Brother and Sister R. are the only ones with whom we are still in contact from that time.
As so often in life, things did not always go smoothly. There were storms, setbacks that we experienced. For example, we experienced a storm that threatened us and wanted to bring down our gable for the second time. That storm raged one autumn night. Anxious hours of wakefulness - could the fury increase even further, in this raging out there, which made everything groan and shake? I became frightened. I had taken out fire insurance with our friend Martin B. and at the same time - probably as the only settler - storm insurance. - Yes, the storm increased more violently than ever, as if holding its breath for a last second before smashing everything. Our children slept peacefully right under the roof. - We must bring them downstairs! -The gable! There, at that moment a tremor - crash- the gable, is it collapsing? "The children!" we cry out, and rush upstairs. "Where are you?" Tired, half-awake voices answer, "What's wrong?"- We snatch them from their warm little beds. What a night!
The gable was still standing the next day, but the storm had torn off a large part of the roof tile over the bedroom. We were mercifully spared and thankful that nothing worse happened. I called our insurance friend the next morning, "I had a little roof damage last night!" He thought he heard a joke! The insurance company promptly paid. That frightful night paid off for him, because many of our new settlers soon took out storm insurance as well. After all, one did not know when another night like this could happen again.