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TWO BROTHERS

Eberhard and Werner Helwig are two brothers living on opposite sides of the world.  They write to each other with birthday and Christmas greetings. Werner lost Minna when she was eighty years of age, but is not alone. He shares the family home with Richard and Rosel, their daughter Patricia and her two young children.

Eberhard and I share our home with visiting friends and family members, several seasonal backpackers, plus Willing Workers on Organic Farms - the wwoofers who help me maintain the garden.

At Christmas they exchanged these photographs.

Werner Helwig at Wolferborn

Eberhard Helwig with a granddaughter at Glen Aplin

Life is about choices.  Due to ill health at the end of World War Two Werner was lucky when he was taken in by Minna’s family in Wolferborn. He married Minna, who inherited the family farm land and village home. Being an educated man, Werner not only managed their property prudently, but was frequently sought out by other villagers for advice. They reared two children, Richard and Margot. They have three grandchildren and several great-grandchildren.

As revealed in The Forgotten Ones, Eberhard chose to leave Germany and immigrate to Brisbane, Australia in 1950. Two years later he married Elizabeth, the daughter of the German architect who supervised the construction of the Housing Commission homes at Zillmere. Eberhard went on to gain further qualifications which qualified him to become the site manager of commercial structures like hospitals and department stores. After the construction of the Myers Department Store in Toowoomba Eberhard moved his family to the city. He and Elizabeth had two children, Christine and Andreas. They now have four grandchildren and two great-granddaughters.  Elizabeth chose to end the marriage in 1974.

I met Eberhard in 1986 and we were married in 1988. We visited Germany in the spring of 1990 and again in the winter of 1997. In 1992 we purchased our property at Glen Aplin and established Das Helwig Haus B&B. We closed this business two years ago and have retired on site. I wrote an account of our way of life operating a hospitality business in a wine tourism district in my published book Wildflowers, wilderness and wine.

I continue to write about the Granite Belt and our way of life on http://fayhelwig.com

Enjoy!

Wildflowers, wilderness and wine

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN concludes

Our last day of  strolling around the hills above Wolferborn and through the forests was shared by Adolf and Margot. The previous evening when visiting with them I had remarked, “There is still one thing I want to do. I would like to go back into that forest towards Büdingen, where we saw the foxgloves” .

“We will come with you,” Adolf offered. “We can show you a return track so you don’t find yourselves once more sharing the road with traffic.” He chuckled at the memory of encountering us on the road that day.

We walked with Eberhard and Margot leading the way up the hillside and reminiscing about the Wolferborn of their youth when all these farms had been individual plots. Eberhard had already told me that after the war the farms had been amalgamated  into larger holdings and leased out to just four farmers. The lease of Minna’s farm land had provided her with an independent income. At such times Adolf  chose to talk with me about the flowers I had enjoyed photographing on our trip down to Switzerland and return through Bavaria and Baden-Württemberg.

Foxgloves near Wolferborn

When we reached the clearing where the foxgloves were still displaying tall spikes, Adolf fitted a new lens to his camera and appeared to be peering deep into the throat of the bell shaped flowers while Margot wandered up the hill further looking for more of the fingerhut, as she called them. Eberhard and I seated ourselves on a fallen tree. There was an urgency in my request, as we contemplated our return to Australia, that he finish the tale of his first departure from Germany.

“We sailed from Genoa at two o’clock.  The ship, named the Surriento, was a 28,000 tonner of the Flotta Lauro line.”

“What were your quarters like?”

“We finished up in a cabin on E deck, where the portholes were just above the water line. I stayed on deck only until the ship left the pier.  I was lucky to secure a bunk with the porthole just beside me. I didn’t wake until we were entering the harbour of Naples.”

“Did you go ashore?”

“We Germans went ashore for the afternoon.  It was an untidy city full of young boys trying to entice us into the shops, or to other pleasures, and we were constantly surrounded by a hoard of urchins.” Eberhard continued to reminisce about the voyage. He remembered the dark night as the ship passed along the coast of Italy and the sight of bright lava flows down the side of Mt. Etna. At Port Said the water of the Mediterranean sparkled and bright sunlight shone on white painted buildings. The young German men were told they couldn’t disembark as Egypt was still officially at war with Germany.

“Four of us managed to be first off the ship!” Eberhard grinned.

They hadn’t encountered any hostility until they strolled into the native quarter where Europeans were evidently disliked. Bicycle riders harassed them, other people made threatening gestures, but fortunately four Egyptian policemen arrested them for disturbing the peace and they were hastily returned to their ship.

Eberhard recalled the ship entering the Suez Canal, the Egyptian traders boarding the ship to trade their wares and how he had bought a pair of leather sandals that only lasted as long as the trip to Australia. He had spent a long night on deck while the ship floated at a very slow speed towards the mouth of the Red Sea.  He said he would never forget the sight of the sun coming up over large sand dunes that were iridescent with rainbow colours in the early morning light.

“Next stop was Colombo. We were ferried on small boats across the choppy harbour to the city. These ebony-skinned stevedores made us Germans feel particularly welcome.”

“Why?”

“The Ceylonese and Indians hated the British and wanted them out of India. Did you know that there were several Indian divisions in Germany during the war?”

“No!” I was surprised.  “Were they mercenaries?”

“No. They were part of the German army. They were recruited in India and entered Germany via Turkey and Greece. Originally it was intended that they fight on the Russian front, but I don’t think they ever did anything except sit around.”

Adolf slung his camera over his shoulder and once more we resumed our walk. This time, with their guidance, we  descended the steep hill to the roadside and they led the way across and down towards a fast flowing stream.

“Once we get across here, we can take the wanderweg back through the meadow,” Adolf said. “There is no easy crossing. We will have to take our boots off.”

The cool water was refreshing on our feet.

Preparing to cross the stream

It wasn’t until after abend brot that evening, when we were sitting under the Douglas Fir tree behind the new house that Eberhard was able to resume sharing with me his recollections of the long sea voyage.  Werner had bestowed on Eberhard a dusty bottle of sweet white wine, the warm colour of ripening wheat.

“This is mellow,” I said, holding the glass to the evening light.

“He doesn’t drink it himself,” Eberhard muttered. “Bottles like this were gifts from his clients before he retired. Now he waits until we are leaving to offer us a bottle!”

Eberhard spoke of the pleasure he experienced at night when all was quiet on the ship. He had sat alone at the very front, where he could see the water dividing around the bow, with a constant breeze blowing and clouds moving across the moon, and played familiar melodies on a harmonica.

“Did you encounter any animosity from the other passengers because of your German nationality?”

“Some. The bulk of the passengers were from Italy and Greece, but there were a number of Jewish families and several displaced persons all hoping to make a new life for themselves in Australia.”

“So, how did they react to you young Germans?”

“We spent most of our daylight hours in the swimming pool on the upper deck, noisily exuberant in our enjoyment of the cool water during the hot days we spent crossing the Indian Ocean, much to the annoyance of quieter guests. Our group requisitioned the after deck during the afternoons and there we sang to the accompaniment of a piano accordion that one of our members was taking with him to Australia. This singing of German songs became a further annoyance to some of the emigrants, but we always felt there was nothing wrong with classical folk songs or even the more ribald ditties.”

“So you avoided the marching songs of the Wehrmacht?”

“Not exactly. We weren’t looking for a fight, so we limited our singing to traditional songs. Most of our marching songs were love songs. Crossing the Equator was fun! We young men Christened everyone we could catch, obliging them to go through a big canvas tunnel with fire hoses spraying from the top, to drop with a splash into the pool.”

“Did time ever drag for you?”

“Yes, until I befriended a DP family from East Germany who were going to Melbourne. I then occupied some of my time usefully by giving English lessons to their children.”

Eberhard refilled our glasses.

“The trip from Colombo to Fremantle was an uneventful stretch, except for a tremendous storm about five days out from Fremantle, which the ship weathered better than most of the passengers. Of the twelve hundred immigrants there wouldn’t have been more than twenty-five of us at a meal sitting.”

“What was your first impression of Australia?”

“Not good!  Fremantle proved an eye opener for all of us, with its large galvanised iron sheds. They were lined by wharfies, all standing against the shed walls with nothing to do except roll their smokes and holler at us.” Eberhard grimaced with disgust.

Flotta Lauro Liner Surriento www.fremantleports.com.au

“Did you have any time for sightseeing?”

“A little. We went as far as Perth. Everything was totally alien to our concept of European cities.  In this land of milk and honey, as it had been described to us before we left Germany, we discovered we couldn’t even get a good cup of coffee.”

I laughed at his remembered exasperation. I had grown up with Bushell’s coffee and chicory essence to flavour hot milk and had never tasted percolated coffee until my first trip to Melbourne at the age of eighteen.

“An uneventful Christmas Day was spent between Fremantle and Melbourne. We found Melbourne a dull city since most of the shops were closed for holidays between Christmas and New Year. Not to mention the quaint opening and shutting times of the hotel bars, which to us Germans was a cause of bewilderment.”

“And Sydney - was that disappointing too?”

“It was much better. We had a beautiful trip up Sydney harbour on a bright sunny day, December 31, 1950.  The harbour was spectacular! Sydney was the major departure point for most passengers. We had three days to occupy. Luckily, I had brought a letter from my Uncle Paul in Mannheim to a German doctor in Sydney. When I telephoned, he promised to collect Klaus and I next morning and take us to his home.”

“How did you celebrate New Year?”

“Every hotel was closed. After walking around for hours we finished up at a Milk Bar and I had my first milk shake!”

I understood his contempt and melancholic yearning for traditional celebrations. No decent coffee in Perth and no bars open on New Year’s eve in Sydney.

“Klaus and I waited at the wharf gates for the old doctor to collect us in his ancient Austin car. He drove us to his home at Rose Hill, where his wife invited us inside. They had a magnificent garden full of shrubs and flowers. Once we were comfortable, we were urged to give a report on life in Germany during and after the war.”

“When had the doctor left Germany?”

“In 1938.  He was Jewish, as was his wife. It was difficult for them to believe my account of the devastation bombing had caused in Mannheim. Klaus and I were taken on a picnic to one of the National Parks and shown some of the magnificent countryside around Sydney. The next day we enjoyed another day of walks, picnics and long conversations with this elderly couple, who I remember with fondness.”

“Did you stay in touch with them?”

“No, although the old doctor guarantied that I would be back in Sydney within half a year of arriving in Queensland.  His reasoning was, that anything north of the Tweed River was unsuitable for an educated gentleman like me. Off Caloundra, we were stationary for half the night.  Next morning the pilot came aboard and the long slow trip through Moreton Bay and up the Brisbane River began.  I could now understand the reason for the doctor’s comments.  Apart from a few dinghies and two Sunderland flying boats, we saw no indication of a capital city.  Instead, we saw mangrove swamps for hour after hour.”

Redland Bay Flying Boat Base

These were mainly Sunderland Flying Boats travelling from Sydney … Redland Bay was the closest suitable site to Brisbane for a water airport www.ict.griffith.edu.au/~davidt/redlandbay/flyingboatbase.htm

Sunderland flying boat

The tidal mud flats, the dirty brown water and the shabby industrial buildings lining the shore would have created a disagreeable first impression.

“Disembarkation at Brett’s Wharf didn’t take long, but we then stood in a straggling line, stretched out along the hot wharf.  Finally, I entered what I thought was the biggest heap of galvanised iron I had ever seen.  Inside the shed it didn’t look anything like a terminal for overseas shipping!”

“Quite a culture shock.”

“Yes. When the customs officer saw my Reader’s Digest on top of my sea bag, he didn’t search for contraband. As Klaus and I stood outside, I couldn’t believe we were in the capital of Queensland.

“The truck, which picked us up, took us around the outskirts of the city along what I know today was Kingsford Smith Drive, through Eagle Farm, Nudgee, Nundah and on to the suburb of Zillmere where our French firm had contracted to build twelve hundred Housing Commission houses. We were shown our quarters, which were fibro sheds with steel frame beds.”

“You were under a bond to remain for two years, weren’t you?”

“Yes. We had no choice but to accept the conditions. The first evening meal in Australia was so uninteresting that it only added to my feelings of despondency. I was dispirited and knew then that I could never ask Waltraud to come to this harsh land.”

Eberhard had given what was to him a valid reason for breaking his engagement to Waltraud. I wondered though, would Waltraud, if given the chance, have left her home and family and travelled to Australia to be with her lover? Eberhard had made a sympathetic decision, believing that with her health problems Waltraud would be better to remain in a civilised country. Probably he had rationalised that such a lovely looking girl with the prospect of inheriting her Uncle’s construction business would have no difficulty finding another husband.

“With a heavy heart, I wrote to Waltraud and ended our engagement.”

The End

Wildflowers, wilderness and wine

I have written The Forgotten Ones to share with younger generations Eberhard’s life story from 1926 to 1950, as told to me by my husband in 1990. It was not written for any commercial purpose. I have used photographs of Germany taken by me, plus others sourced from such internet sites as http://www.panoramio.com/. If I have inadvertently used any photo without giving credit or without permission of the photographer I offer my apologies.

For those readers of The Forgotten Ones who wish to read more about the life Eberhard and I have shared since 1990 you may obtain my book Wildflowers, wilderness and wine on www.australia-book.com.au or on http://strores.lulu.com/strictlyliterary

I continue to write on http://fayhelwig.com concerning our way of life on the Granite Belt of southern Queensland.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN begins.

“When did you decide to immigrate to Australia?” I asked.

“Late in 1949 I read an advertisement in the local paper asking for tradesmen willing to immigrate to Australia in the employment of a French building firm. Applicants were advised to apply to the firm at the Ludwigshafen Labour Bureau.”

“Where is Ludwigshafen?”

“Remember, we passed it going down to Switzerland, on the other side of the Rhine River to Mannheim? It was one of the major industrial cities in the French occupied territory of Germany.”

“How stringent were the immigration requirements?”

“Tough! According to the clerk my ability to speak English and my perfect trades certificates made me a suitable candidate. I was asked to produce my de-Nazification papers and to obtain a health certificate.”

With only a week remaining before we must fly out from Frankfurt, we had returned to spend that final week of June with Werner and Minna at Wolferborn. Once more I was amazed by the rapidity of changes in the German season due to the impact of lengthening days and the longer hours of sunlight. I had noted the ripe strawberries in the garden of Franz and Gertie as we strode up the hill past their house on the corner. Further on the lilac trees clustered in another garden were in full bloom sharing a sweet perfume I associated with talcum powder. Ahead of us I could see the wheat crops colouring up as the grain neared maturity.

Lilac blossom

“Weeks later, I was contacted and arranged to meet a representative of the French firm at the Ludwigshafen Labour Bureau. He instructed me to obtain a passport, duplicates of my papers and certificates and various other documents.  He advised me that by the middle of May we would proceed to a French airport and fly to Australia.”

“Were you excited?”

“I can remember feeling pleased to be found acceptable.”

I glanced at him and remembered the cinema news-reels I had seen throughout the fifties. These films showed immigrant ships disembarking fair-skinned, blond-haired and blue-eyed New Australians who were coming from England, the Netherlands and Scandinavia.  Eberhard’s fair hair, youth and skills meant he was the desired immigrant type.

Eberhard-Mannheim

“I continued working at jobs for my firm until two weeks before the nominated departure date. I then took my spare belongings and all my tools and visited Werner and Minna. I made Werner a present of everything, as I wasn’t allowed to take these with me to Australia.”

“Why?”

“As the first Germans invited to immigrate to any Allied country we were subjected to special restrictions. We were allowed no more than twenty pounds of luggage, nor were we permitted to take any money with us. All our travel arrangements were prepaid by the French firm.”

“And Waltraud, did you go and say goodbye to her?”

“Of course. After saying goodbye to Werner and Minna, I continued on to Kassel.  I promised Waltraud I would send for her as soon as I could marry her and provide a decent home.”

“Did she believe you?”

“I remember her tears. The more she cried, the more her mother abused me. She said I was a fool for wanting to travel to the ends of the earth. She swore I would never return.”

“She knew you better than you knew yourself.”

We had arrived in Wolferborn at the beginning of April when the wild, leafless  road side trees were white with bloom.  These trees were now in full leaf and amongst them were masses of flowering heckenrosen – the hedge roses revealing themselves in the shade or sprawling over embankments.

Hedge roses

“When did you leave for Australia?”

“The May departure date came and went and my inquiries at the Ludwigshafen office were fobbed off with all manner of excuses.”As he related this tale of prevarication, Eberhard spoke crossly. The imprecise schedule of his prospective employers must have irked him enormously.

“I met and befriended another intended immigrant, Klaus, and then found a job for both of us with a Ludwigshafen firm, laying cobblestones. We became expert at constructing road bed foundations.”

“You know, I admire the way you could always to find work.”

Eberhard ignored my comment. “Our wages were only sufficient to keep our heads above water. As we were unable to afford to do anything in our leisure time I found us another job – repairing a big wooden tower at the Mannheim paper factory.”

“I admire your willingness to have a go at anything.”  Clearly, all these different work experiences had provided the grounding for his later success in commercial constructions in Australia.

“Firstly we shored up the old structure to enable us to replace heavy wooden beams, rotted out by the chemicals. Then we lowered each old beam and replaced it with a new beam. It was a tedious job and slow, as we spent most of our time on the ladders going up and down.”

“You started the job at the top and worked you way downward?” I pictured the two young men working high on the scaffolding.”

“Yes.”

“How long were you kept waiting?”

“Until fifth October. One cold morning, a fellow called to us from the ground. We were ordered to present ourselves to the Ludwigshafen Labour Bureau at six o’clock the next morning to be bussed off to France to begin our new life.”

We paused beneath a cherry tree on a hillside above the village to look down on Wolferborn. I had photographed the cherry blossom during our first week in Germany.  Now, before our departure, we could taste the first wild fruits.

Ripening harvest

“After waiting so long, you must have been glad to leave Germany,” I said.

“Yes indeed. On the morning of our departure about thirty-five people assembled. At eight o’clock two men arrived with a bus.  They greeted us and said we would proceed towards Nancy in France.”

“I guess there were some tearful farewells.”

“There were sad faces amongst the married couples. In high spirits we drove towards the French border listening to pep talks from the representatives of the firm.  These were a young French fellow, who spoke perfect German, and an older man, a German architect. I later learned that he was running away from serious financial troubles. Faced with bankruptcy he had decided to make a new life in a foreign country.”

The scorn in Eberhard’s voice clearly indicated his disapproval of the architect. In Australia Eberhard had encountered a number of problems, but his integrity remained intact. He had never speculated, never frittered away his wages and never dishonoured a business contract.

“We were off loaded from a bus at the German Weintor – a landmark on the French German border of the Pfalz. We were told to leave our luggage on the bus and hand our cameras to the tour leaders who would get them across the border duty free. We were not allowed to take any money across the border. I spent my last Deutschmarks on a glass of white wine.”

“A symbolic toast!”

“Ach Fay, you are a romantic.”

I was surprised when Eberhard seized my hand and kissed it. His voice was thick with emotion when he resumed his narrative. “Our names were called and in single file we marched through the border checkpoint, boarded our bus and drove on to a small town near Nancy.”

“Where’s Nancy?”

“Due west of Strasbourg, on the north-western slopes of the Vosge Mountains, where the Moselle River begins.”

I wished, not for the first time, that I had a better grasp of European geography.

“What sort of reception did you receive in France from the ordinary people?”

“When we trooped through the lounge I felt most uncomfortable. We were led to a larger room at the back of the guesthouse. It was a miserable, dirty place and the food was just as terrible. Ach Fay, when I think back to what they served us in France that night,” Eberhard scowled, “only hot milk poured over bread in a soup bowl. Our coffee was served in parfait glasses and was pitch black. The only way I could drink it was to add several spoons of sugar.”

“Clearly, not a good impression.”

“Our first morning in France, we were driven to the factory that manufactured the wooden houses for Australia. We were allowed to inspect the premises, but our questions about airports, dates and departure times were ignored. We were told not to be impatient – everything in good time.”

“Why were they fobbing you off?”

“We were beginning to smell a rat and the older fellow didn’t endear himself to us when he accused us of being rude.  Next morning two of our group departed for their homes in Germany.”

“Why?”

“We were ordered to get out our overalls and start work in the factory. We were told that as we were employed by the company we should commence work.”

“And did you?”

“No. To a man we refused to work in France, as we had contracted to work in Australia. This brought out the Managing Director of the firm, who berated us. He stated his low opinion of recalcitrant Germans, claiming we should be showing gratitude for this wonderful opportunity to move to a free country.”

“He was laying a guilt trip on you!”

“We ignored his words, and told him we wouldn’t work in a French factory. We all threatened to go home. At the end of the second week of sleeping in triple bunks in the dormitory of the guesthouse – thirty-five of us in a room hardly any bigger than a normal bedroom, we were told that seventeen of our group would travel by train to Paris. There we would change trains to Genoa for a boat journey to Australia.”

“What became of the others?”

“They were flown out months later.”

“Did you have any time in Paris?”

“Not really. We arrived near mid-night and were each given French Francs to the value of four Australian pounds. We were told to buy whatever food and drink we wanted and that the French chocolate was cheap and good.  I bought a large salami, a French bread stick and a bottle of wine. At the last minute I also bought a dark block of chocolate knowing it would stuff up my belly if I should get diarrhoea.”

I turned sideways, watching the shadows lengthen.  Such a practical man, my husband.

“We boarded an underground train at the East Paris station to cross to the West Paris railway station. Those trains shut their doors so fast that I doubted the seventeen of us could dash into the one carriage simultaneously. I was concerned some of us would get left behind, with no one able to speak French.” He discounted the remembered disquiet with a scornful smile and added, “The crowd was astonished to hear so many boisterous Germans yelling above the noise of the train.”

“I’ll bet!” It was probably the first time such a conspicuous group of young German men had made their presence felt since the occupation of Paris.

“At West Paris we boarded a train for the south of France and were fortunate that we had no local people sharing our compartments. We unpacked our brown-papered food and with the help of the red wine we even achieved a mood of exuberant cheerfulness.”

“Your own Bon voyage party.”

There had been jollity in the Wolferborn house, when we left Werner and Minna practicing their folk music with a group of friends. After introductions and greetings had been exchanged with people I hadn’t previously met, we had excused ourselves from the over warm room, choosing the fresh evening air of twilight for another ramble.

Werner Helwig

Eberhard’s expression became pensive as he described those final hours when cognition had pierced his heart and he knew he was leaving Europe. “The full moon shone outside the train’s windows as we passed through the Rhone valley. The moonlight floodlit the countryside the whole night, giving us a magnificent view of the French Alps. In the early morning the sun was especially bright as we continued on through the Italian Alps.”

“It sounds delightful.” I noticed that my husband’s eyes were moist. I tried to imagine the feelings that must have struggled for supremacy in the young man’s mind. He had buried his mother and father. Only two brothers had survived the war. There were no dependant family members relying on his physical presence, leaving him free to stake a future in the New World for himself and Waltraud. Yet, in those final hours, had he questioned the sensibility of leaving centuries of civilisation for the rugged existence likely to confront him in Brisbane.

To be continued

Wildflowers, wilderness and wine

As I have been writing this chapter we have welcomed into our home a South Korean WWOOF member. Eun-Hee Kim wrote to me saying:

I’m a very easy going person. I like to travel. I like to read books. because I could learn many things about life from those things. and also I like to cook foods. Before I came to Australia, I was Korean Baptist Thelogical University student, my major was church music( I played pipe organ)and after that  I went to Japan for a year, I had been working in a Restuarant with variety of people who come from foreign country. I speak Japanese as well. I think I’m able to speak reasonable english and willing to speak better english. That is one of reason to staying in australia.

In Wildflowers, wilderness and wine my readers are introduced to a variety of young International Willing Workers on Organic Farms. Each of them bring with them their own story. You may purchase Wildflowers, wilderness and wine on www.australia-book.com.au if you live in Australia. Overseas readers  may obtain a copy via http://stores.lulu.com/strictlyliterary

A couple of months ago I responded to a notice on the WWOOF bulletin board from a middle aged Australian male – Rex van Heusen. He expressed his interest in travelling around Australia working a month at a time on organic farms. He had a commitment in the Lockyer Valley for January and it was then arranged that he should come here for a month. He has his own vehicle and I’m expecting him to arrive today.

I’ve told Rex that I have some specific jobs I want him to undertake, like installing the solar system at the dam so I can pump water to irrigate our garden and to supervise any other wwoofers so I can spend more time writing. I know nothing about his background, but no doubt he will bring a story with him which I hope to share with you on http://fayhelwig.com

CHAPTER SIXTEEN concludes

The Berg Hohenzollern was visible for many kilometres, perched as it is on a steep mountain top above the plains across which we were driving.

Hohenzollern Castle (German: Burg Hohenzollern) is a castle about 50 kilometers (30 mi) south of Stuttgart, Germany. It is considered the ancestral seat of the Hohenzollern family, which emerged in the Middle Ages and eventually became German Emperors.

The castle is located on top of Mount Hohenzollern at an elevation of 855 meters (2,805 ft), above Hechingen and nearby Bisingen, both located at the foothills of the Swabian Alb. It was originally constructed in the first part of the 11th century.

Among the historical artifacts of Prussian history contained in the castle today are the Crown of Wilhelm II and some of the personal effects of Frederick the Great and a letter from US President George Washington thanking Baron von Steuben, a scion of the House of Hohenzollern, for his service in the American Revolutionary War. The castle is today a popular tourist destination.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hohenzollern_Castle

Berg Hohenzollern

The road we were following left the area of fields and villages to wind through dense forest at the base of a sharp hill. After we reached the car park we proceeded on foot to climb a steep road up to the entrance. The overhanging shade from the trees was welcome in the heat of the day although it blocked out the view as we ascended.

I was more interested in strolling in the fresh air listening to Eberhard tell of the troubled times  during his youth. As we walked around the ramparts, which allowed me to photograph the countryside below, I again began to question Eberhard.

“I suppose it didn’t take you long to find a steady girl friend in Kassel,” I teased.

Eberhard nodded, looking out across the landscape. It was some time before he spoke and I wondered at his hesitation. His voice was soft when he said, “I befriended the office girl, Waltraud.”

Although clearly her memory was especially significant to Eberhard, I realised that she was merely another young woman who had failed to tie him down.

“Regularly each month Waltraud fainted from heavy bleeding and the boss would come running for me. He needed me to pick her up off the floor and escort her home to rest.”

“Were you embarrassed?”

“No, I’ve never been squeamish about such matters. It was because of my chivalrous attitude to women that he selected me for these emergencies. My young colleagues were all oafs.”

Those formative years when surrounded by caring women had nurtured in Eberhard a degree of compassion not commonly found amongst the German working class males.

“When we became sweethearts she insisted we become engaged. Waltraud was a good girl who thought sex outside marriage was wrong, but once we announced our engagement she was willing enough.”

Virtue had temporarily triumphed, although clearly Eberhard had never married his fiancée.

“Waltraud was the niece of my boss and at the engagement party it was hinted to me that she would eventually inherit the building business.”

“Were her parents alive?”

“Yes. Her father was a meek man who spent his free time alone with his birds in the pigeon loft. He was one of an elite group – the locomotive drivers of the German railways. He drove the same route year after year between Kassel and Hanover.”

“And her mother, what was she like?”

“Waltraud’s mother didn’t approve of me. I had no close relations and no home. She remained unhappy about our engagement.”

“At least you had a job.”

“And I was a hard worker. A year after commencing my training I passed all the necessary practical, verbal and written tests and became a qualified tradesman with proper papers and certificates.

“That was quite an achievement.” I acknowledged. “What went wrong?” I guessed another unfortunate twist to his tale must have separated the young lovers.

“The German government threw a spanner in the works! In mid 1948 the monetary system was abruptly changed and all savings and cash on hand were wiped out.”

“So once again you lost everything.”

“That’s right! Worst of all, I lost my job, since the firm couldn’t find employment for me. For weeks and months we were underpaid with the promise of receiving the full pay at some later stage.”

“How did you manage?”

“In my spare time I found small jobs like installing shelves in a grocery store in return for food.”

“You bartered your services?”

“Yes. The worst problem was the inactivity in the construction business. My employer had been restoring and building houses, but due to the acute shortage of money most of this work ceased for awhile.”

Berg Hohensollern

“What did you do?”

“I applied for work with other firms.  When I obtained a promise of employment with a firm who held a contract to rebuild the Dunlop Rubber factory, in Hanau, I said goodbye to my fiancée and moved to Wolferborn to live with Werner and Minna, who by that time had married.”

“So the banks kept the bigger firms in operation. It was only the little ones that suffered?”

“Isn’t that always the way?” Eberhard answered my question with his own.  “That firm had recruited about thirty-five carpenters and bricklayers and arranged our accommodation with Wolferborn families, as the foreman lived in the village. We were a happy group of workers, leaving before sunrise in the morning and returning home in the dark. Again, I started saving money.”  The tone of his voice indicated that he was about to tell of another set back.  “As winter approached we discovered the limitations of the old truck that transported us to work. It couldn’t cope with the icy roads. And then, because it was a very cold winter, all building activity ceased and I became unemployed.”

“How did you manage for money?  Were you entitled to any unemployment benefit?”

“A small amount, but it wasn’t easy to get. Laid off workers were obliged to undertake community work. We unemployed tradesmen were sent to the local forester. With picks and hoes we were marched into the State forest near Büdingen every morning and were expected to dig holes in the frozen ground to plant pine trees.”

Wolferborn stream

“The army of the pick and hoe,” I joked, remembering Eberhard’s reference to the Arbeits Dienst as the army of the spade.

Eberhard smiled tolerantly. “We built brush fires first to soften the ground.  Most of the time we stood around the fire trying to keep ourselves warm.  The forester said we were a bunch of lazy fellows, but we made progress even if there was a lot of laughter and fun. At least we earned our unemployment benefit until the winter relented and let us go back to building work.”

Wolferborn snow

“Why did you break your promise to Waltraud?”

Eberhard’s face reddened. “Ach Fay, it’s not something I’m proud of. I’ve always considered myself a man of honour. However, at the time that I wrote to her and broke our engagement, it seemed the kindest thing I could do for her.”

“Tell me, why did you break her heart?” I turned the knife in the old wound.

“It is a long story. During the winter that I worked in the forest, I established a correspondence with my Aunt Ella and Uncle Paul. I made inquiries through them to determine if there were any jobs in Mannheim. Even in 1949 it was still very difficult to shift from one place to another within Germany. The irony was you could get a job if you had a place to live, but you couldn’t get a place to live unless you had a job.”

“Could you stay with your relatives?”

“No. They wouldn’t have me. If relatives put up family members they were likely to be penalised by the local authority. There was a risk that they would investigate the home and decide there was sufficient space to install a strange family.”

“So, what did you do?”

“I found temporary accommodation in an under-ground, air-raid shelter – it was an awful, flea-ridden place. I received permission in fortnightly stretches to remain in Mannheim.”

“Obviously, you had found employment?”

“Yes, with the Holzmann firm. I became an expert in scaffolding work. We repaired broken structures such as cement towers.”

“It’s a good thing you’ve always had a head for heights.”

“Yes indeed. The firm of Holzmann was then the largest building firm in Germany and I worked seventy or eighty hours a week.  My supervisor made an application to the city authority to allow me to find a flat more suitable for my standing in the community.”

I wondered if Eberhard’s emphasis on his respectability reflected the shame of his impoverished childhood and his diminished status as a tradesman, now that he was once more associating with his wealthier relatives.

“Through contacts in the Evangelical Church, which I joined in Mannheim, I obtained a room with a widow, in one of the better areas of the city.”

“Out in the suburbs. Didn’t transport pose a problem?”

“Ach Fay, in those days my transport was a bicycle and all my belongings fitted into two suitcases.”

“As you moved south, you were moving further away from Waltraud.”

“Yes, and I missed her. My landlady kindly agreed to accept my fiancée as a guest in her flat.”

“Making sure all the proprieties were observed.”

“Of course. Waltraud came down for two weeks, which was a very enjoyable time for both of us until Waltraud’s monthly period arrived. She collapsed on a walk through the Heidelberg hills. As usual she experienced profuse bleeding, which soaked through her clothing.”

“The poor girl!”

“It was a very embarrassing trip home on the electric train. I stood close behind her and tried to hide her blood stained skirt. I must admit, it soured our relationship, for I was still young enough to feel mortified.”

“Couldn’t Waltraud get medical treatment?”

“Germany was a growing country with no resources to treat minor problems.”

“But you still planned to marry her?”

“Of course. Waltraud left for home with the knowledge that it might be a year or two before we could afford to marry.”

Wildflowers, wilderness and wine

I sent out a newsletter this week to all those who had subscribed to this site. If you are one of my subscribers who did not receive this newsletter it may be because you have changed your email address. I received several notifications that my newsletter could not be delivered. You can re-subscribe. Wildflowers, wilderness and wine is available in Australia on www.australia-book.com.au Overseas readers will find it on http://stores.lulu.com/strictlyliterary

My recent posts on http://fayhelwig.com have been an attempt to share with my readers an account of the floods and cyclones which have devastated Queensland this year.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN continues

“We will stay another night here, but today we will hire a car and drive down to the Berg Hohenzollern,” Eberhard folded his breakfast napkin.

“What’s that?”

“It is one of the most popular castles in Europe. The Hohenzollern Castle, is known was the ancestral home of the Prussian kings. Later this palace became the home of the Swabian Princes of Hohenzollern.”

“I’ll be happy to do so. After Switzerland I’m determined to make the most of every sunny day. Germany is so pretty in the summer time. I’m amazed by the Peonies in the garden here.  I’ve never seen anything like them before.

“They are called Phingst Rosen in Germany because they usually begin to bloom for Pfingst Sonntag – Pentecost Sunday.”

“These are beautiful! I must take a photo.”

Peonies

We finished our ample breakfast at the Pension and decided to stroll down the slope amongst the grapevines and catch an S-Bahn train into the city of Stuttgart at the Obertürkheim railway station.

I pulled my cap down to shade my eyes. “It’s going to be another hot day, building up to storms. Look at the way those mare-tail clouds are bringing in high moisture.”

“You could be right. That summer when I began work in Kassel proved to be a hot summer.”

“Four times your career changed direction – teacher, army officer, cook and carpenter.”

“It wasn’t by choice that I became the first tradesman in our family.  The Helwig family and their connections had always belonged to the professional class or were prosperous merchants.”

The visit with Gisela and Gunther in Switzerland had given me an understanding of his resentment at always being considered one of the poor relations of the family. I had sensed shame that he had lost status within the family because he had never completed a university education, but been forced to acquire a trade to survive.

“In those summer days when Germany still had triple summer time, I used to see the sun going down at mid-night behind the monument of Hercules.”

“Hercules?”

“It’s a pity that we won’t have time to visit Kassel. The statue of Hercules is above the palace in the Wilhelmshohe Mountain Park – the largest palace grounds in Germany.”

Eberhard explained that the Wilhelmshohe Mountain Park was situated four kilometres west of Kassel and dominated by the Wilhelmshoheschloss.  It was laid out on an octagonal plateau. The statue of Hercules is over nine metres high and perched on a thirty metre stone tower, known as the Pyramid. This was positioned above the central portion of the castle – the Wasserchloss, which acted as a water reservoir. At times when the water was released it flushed down the six metres wide middle sprint and the two side-sprints, each two metres wide, of the cascade stairs.  As a builder, Eberhard has a head for statistics and he kept rattling off details. The cascade was built in stepped sections with three cascade basins to break the force of the flow, before again spilling the water onto the next division. Each step was two metres high and there were twenty-four steps over a length of one hundred and fifty metres to the valley pool. The palace was reconstructed after the war and now housed the national art collection.  Floodlights illuminate the park during the summer months. The spectacular water events, when the released water gushes down the great stairs, attract huge crowds.

“How did you like working as a carpenter?”

“Ach Fay, you know me, I’ve always been a worker. Apart from which, my college education and training as an officer had taught me think so I rapidly acquired proficiency.”

“What work were you doing?”

“Repairing and rebuilding bombed-out houses. We cut all the timber in our yard. This job gave me an excellent grounding in timber roof constructions. We then loaded everything on to a two-wheeled, flat-top cart and a three-wheeler, half-ton Tempo truck with a chain driven, two-stroke, front wheel engine.”

“Sounds like a strange vehicle.”

“It was a terrible thing, but very practical and cheap. If I wasn’t detailed to push the cart to the building site, I would sit over the front wheel on the bonnet of this truck to keep its driving wheel on the road.”

I knew Eberhard’s strong work ethic would have motivated him to work industriously to please his employer.

“I enjoyed working with timber. By then I had adapted to doing all heavy work with my left hand. Herr Iffert, my boss, was pleased with my efforts. He also trained another three apprentices and we were quite a happy bunch, although I had little in common with these men.”

“Because you were better educated?”

“Yes.”

I sensed Eberhard’s self-assurance might have irked the other men. His years of officer training would have marked him with an aura of authority.

“Were you under a foreman?”

“Sure, a dour fellow, who was given to melancholy depression, or violent outburst of abuse. Many a hammer or other implement flew murderously across the workshop. We ducked for cover whenever he stood at the main entrance screaming at us apprentices.”

“Why the temper tantrums?”

“When I got to know the chief a bit better, I discovered he was plagued by piles, which sent him into these furies of helplessness.”

“Couldn’t he get medical treatment?

“No. In those days the hospitals were still filled with urgent medical cases.  Half the adult men of Germany were killed or wounded in the war.”

“You were lucky to survive with your arm intact.”

“Werner always said I was the lucky one.”

A morning stroll

I asked, “How did your father die?”

“His motorcycle ended up under the back wheels of an English army truck.  The driver was on the wrong side of the road!”

“How dreadful! His father had had a heart attack after being knocked down by a bicycle, but your father was actually run over?”

“Yes. In August 1947, I received a call from my father’s woman in Lüneburg. She told me my father had had a fatal accident and asked could my brother, Werner and I please come for the funeral.”

“You told me earlier that Werner has contacted tuberculosis and you had found him while you were still at Ziegenhain and had taken him to Wolferborn.”

“That’s right. I took leave from my job and collected my brother at Wolferborn. At the time Werner was not very well, but both of us boarded a train to Lüneburg.”

It would have been a long journey for the young men, travelling up through the State of Lower Saxony to Hanover and on to Lüneburg.

As if he had read my mind, Eberhard said, “Crossing the border posed no problem. We applied for passes to attend our father’s funeral and they were readily granted. Father’s woman met us at the Lüneburg station.”

“Had she made the funeral arrangements?”

“Yes.  She had also identified the body, which saved me that unpleasant chore. The Police informed us that our father died under the back wheels of an English army truck that was driving up the wrong side of the German road on a long drawn out curve. Also at the same time, my father saw fit enough to have about 6½ hundred-weight of carpet and household goods strapped to the rear of the motor cycle.”

“Why wasn’t Erwin using his car?”

“A valuable car is treated with respect, not used as a work horse.” Eberhard was impatient with my question.

“Surely the carpets would have made the bike unwieldy?”

“No, he would have balanced the load.” Eberhard was firm in defense of his father. “The Police said the collision occurred on a blind bend in the road and my father never stood a chance.”

“Where was he going?”

“He was shifting from Lüneburg to Timmendorfer Strand where he intended a more permanent liaison with the girl I admired.”

“He was running out on the Lüneburg woman?”

“I reached that conclusion.” Condemnation registered in the expression passing across Eberhard’s face. “The simple funeral service was held in the chapel at the cemetery. After the burial, Werner was feeling exhausted so we found a seat.”

I imagined the young men in contemplation reviewing Erwin Helwig’s life, discussing their childish resentment of the absent father who had lived his life oblivious of the pain or censure of others.

“I noticed the grave diggers pulling up the casket.”

“Why?”

“They needed the casket for the next service.” He spoke without emotion.

I looked at him with astonishment. Eberhard is a man of traditional values who normally insists on propriety.  It seemed his attitude was strangely dispassionate.

“Ach Fay,” he explained, “the aluminum casket had a hinged base that allowed the body to remain in the grave. As we hadn’t paid for the funeral, we couldn’t create a fuss. Anyway, that’s how things were in Germany in 1947.”

“Oh how awful!” I understood the lack of modulation in Eberhard’s voice as a defensive reaction against his inability to alter the circumstances. Erwin Helwig was buried as a pauper. I resisted the temptation to question Eberhard concerning why neither of his Aunts had attended the funeral. They would have found the circumstances leading to his death distasteful. They were already bitter about the wastage of family wealth, disapproving of his profligate lifestyle and would have thought his pointless death the last straw.  Obviously they hadn’t considered it appropriate to have the body taken to Mannheim for interment in the family mausoleum.

We reached our destination the Stuttgart-Obertürkheim railway station.

Railway station

It wasn’t until an hour later, after he had hired a car and we were driving through the green countryside that Eberhard took up his tale.

“We were interviewed by the police after the funeral and were asked to come to the police station to finalise all papers. We were informed that we should sign papers to accept the inheritance of my father’s wealth. We were asked if we would be so good as to sell the damaged motor cycle to the police force.”

“Would they have used it for spare parts?”

“Ach Fay, we didn’t care. We inspected the damaged BMW bike and we both decided that it would not be of any use to us. From memory, we received enough money to pay for the return tickets to our homes.”

“What then?”

“Werner wasn’t well, but I felt obliged to wind up Father’s affairs at the Timmendorfer Strand and visit the family at Eutin.”

“How were you received?”

“The old man wanted to know why I hadn’t stayed in the north? They owned a building firm too and could have used a good worker like me. He even suggested that Father’s young friend might be just the right partner for me.”  Eberhard smiled. “He did me a great favour. He warned me against accepting my father’s inheritance.”

“Why should you refuse the few things that were left?”

“The old man informed me that Father died owing them a tremendous sum of money and he had borrowed money from several other sources.”

“How embarrassing for you.”

“It was to his personal detriment to warn me. In Germany the legal heirs acquire property, but are also held responsible for any debts.”

“Would you have been obliged to repay the money he had borrowed?”

“Yes. Two years later it was confirmed that Erwin Helwig had left huge debts in the north of Germany. I considered myself fortunate that I had refused to accept anything from my father’s estate.”

“What a strange law – to hold children responsible for the sins of their father.”

“I was lucky the Police kept quiet about my acceptance of their money. I was again urged to stay on, to get into the building game and farming of this property. It was tempting, but I didn’t really have a choice. To this day, I remember how my brother begged me to return with him as soon as possible as he really felt ill from all the walking up and down highways necessary to reach destinations that we had to visit. I returned to Kassel and left Werner on the train to Wolferbonn.”

Berg Hohenzollern

The picturesque setting of the castle is its one of the most talked-about features and apart from its grand architecture one of the primary reasons which lures visitors. This ancient castle which is preserved with utmost care is counted among the top tourist destinations in Germany.

The early history of Hohenzollern Castle, Germany is not documented properly. It was probably in 1061 that the castle was built and the first recorded history of the Hohenzollern Castle, Germany in 1267 does not give a clear idea about the construction of the house in 11th century. The castle was partially destroyed in 1423 by the Swabian rulers. However the castle changed hands several times in the following years and parts of the Hohenzollern Castle in Germany was constantly constructed and renovated until 1819 when Frederick William IV visited this place, and planned to restore the home of his ancestors.

With the help of Rudolf Count Stillfried a new look was given to the castle. The designs were changed frequently and the political upheaval in the country repeatedly hampered the construction work. The outcome was remarkable as the Hohenzollern Castle, Germany is one of the few castles in the European continent which sports a Neo Gothic look. Hohenzollern Castle in Germany even now is considered among the most popular tourist attractions in Germany. The year 1952 was a remarkable year as Prince Louis Ferdinand of Prussia started to decorate the palace. The castle boats of number of memorabilia and documents which preserve the history of the royal family.

When you are inside Hohenzollern Castle, Germany you can take a walk through the winding portals. You will come across the Count’s Hall, Margrave’s Parlour, Family Tree Hall, Castle Garden, the Keep, Garden Bastion, the Royal Treasury and the Christ’s Chapel. As is it opened for public viewing the visitors are requested to follow certain rules and they can accompany their guides who will provide interesting information about the castle. The total tour of the castle takes less than an hour and you will come out full of wonderful memories of this beautiful castle.

http://travel.mapsofworld.com/germany/germany-tourist-attractions/hohenzollern-castle.html

To be continued

Wildflowers, wilderness and wine

Wildflowers, wilderness and wine is a book about the way of life that Eberhard and Fay established on the Granite Belt of southern Queensland in 1992, where they still live. You can purchase it on www.australia-book.com.au or http://stores.lulu.com/strictlyliterary

Fay also writes about their way of life on the Granite Belt on http://fayhelwig.com Recent posts have been about the disastrous floods affecting southern Queensland.