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CHAPTER SIXTEEN begins.

Eberhard and I left Munich continuing our travels by train to Stuttgart. The line wound through low grass covered hills and broad fields of grain, mostly wheat and barley crops just coming into shot blade. The onion shaped domes on the towers of the innumerable Catholic churches built during the Renaissance years dominated the countryside, lending even the smallest Bavarian villages a special flair. Eberhard explained that Bavaria had retained the shape of its medieval dukedom while the land closer to the Rhine River became a complex structure of independent states, bishoprics and free cities.  A common factor was the profound influence of the Roman culture in all the Latinised lands of western and south western Germany.

A village near Stuttgart

Eberhard told me Stuttgart was originally founded in the tenth century and was previously known by the name Stutengarten (mare garden) and was used as place for breeding horses for the Emperor’s cavalry. Later, Stuttgart gained prominence by becoming the residence of the dukes of Württemberg. During World War II the centre of the city was almost completely destroyed by bombing. After the war the two states of Baden and Württemberg merged and Stuttgart became the capital of Baden-Wurttemberg in 1952. The black horse appears on the Stuttgart City’s coat of arms.

As had so frequently happened, when we travelled by train in a first class carriage we had privacy, which allowed Eberhard to continue telling me about his early years.

This day, while admiring the views of the countryside from the train windows, I asked, “When were you reunited with other family members?”

Munich to Lüneburg map

“Family contact was re-established through the Krummel household in Mannheim. From there I found out the whereabouts of my three brothers and my father. My father then visited me in Ziegenheim just at the time the Americans had decided that all of us non-American soldiers must join a special battalion of displaced persons.”

“Good timing.”

“I explained to my father that I was not in favour of joining such a unit, as I was a German in my own country – not a displaced person. He invited me to come up to the northern part of Germany with him. The two of us boarded a train in Kassel and during the train ride to the American/English zone border, he worked out how to get me through the checkpoint on the railway station at Hanover. My father jumped out of the train as soon as it stopped, went through the control at the checkpoint, which was no trouble for him, returned across the track to where I was waiting for him in the train and handed me his passport to the British occupied zone. As we both had the same initials, Erwin Wilhelm and Eberhard Wilhelm, I was not stopped. We joined a second train going further north into the British occupied zone of Germany.

“We left the train at Lüneburg. Here my father introduced me to the lady he lived with. I was surprised that my father, who had weathered the war very well, was working for the British reparation authority sending German machinery to England.

“The spoils of victory!”

“It didn’t do the British any good. They stripped Germany bare. This meant Germany had to start again with brand new machinery, which led to the prosperity we see today.”

“True.”

“My father, who started the war as a sergeant in the German army quickly became a Quarter Master in charge of a whole division. He was part of the occupying force, riding a horse very proudly through Poland and never seeing any fighting there.”

“A horse?”

“They weren’t discarded by the German army until 1940. My father then became a co-driver of a BMW motorcycle with side car. This was his mode of transport as he went to the western campaign through Belgium and France.

Erwin Helwig in France

“He was never on the fighting front. He became part of the occupational forces that went into Paris. Here he apparently made a foolish blunder and paid his soldiers two weeks before payday, so the German soldiers could buy French goods to send home to their loved ones in Germany. He was found out, demoted to corporal and was promptly sent towards the eastern front in what the Germans called the Straff Battalion, a battalion of convicted soldiers in the army. It was a felony in the army to do what he had done, but he was not classed as a criminal in a civilian sense.”

Eberhard began to gather our possessions, as the train pulled into Stuttgart. He chuckled as he completed his tale. “My father certainly did not spend much time in this Straff Battalion. With his organizational ability he was soon put in charge of a Polish factory producing small-goods for export to the German Reich. He held this post throughout the war and was able to miss the Russian campaign in Poland and Germany. He told me he left many despairing Poles back in Poland who thought he was the best boss they had ever had.”

Once outside the Stuttgart station, Eberhard asked the advice of a taxi driver, requesting that he find us a modest Pension in the hill country overlooking the main city. He drove us to a village nestled in a hollow amongst the vines.

A village amongst the vines

Like many other parts of Germany this region had been comprised of small vineyards, haphazardly shaped and individually owned until after the war. Then the old vines had gradually been razed and the whole area planted in an orderly manner to take economic advantage of the location, thus giving a modern feel to these vineyards.

It wasn’t until the next day, as we began to climb the hills covered towards the Sepulchral Chapel on the Wuerttemberg Mountain, that Eberhard resumed his narrative.

Climbing towards the Sepulchral Chapel

Flowering Elderberry

Father, being an English speaking person, managed to convince the British that he would be a valuable asset to their after-the-war requirements. He became a top member of the German repatriation system on behalf of the English army in northern Germany. In these times of high-living for some, and deprivation for others, he could naturally be as effective with the German ladies as any occupational soldier could possibly be.”

“He appears to have a history of womanizing.”

“He was a philou. He divorced my mother in 1933, in Canada or immediately after they returned to Germany. He married another woman in Berlin, had a daughter and divorced her in 1937. He re-married her when the war started so she could become the beneficiary of his army pension should he die. He divorced her straight after the war again. He began his liaisons with a woman in Lüneburg and also with a beautiful young lady in northern Germany near Lubeck.”

“He must have been a real charmer!”

“He was. My father had quarters in Lüneburg and a seaside unit at Timmendorfer Strand where he also romanced the landlady.”

“So, you went there too?”

“Ach Fay, father always needed money. Not only did he take me with him he asked me to contribute to his lifestyle during my stay near the Baltic Sea.”

Northern Germany

“How did you occupy your days?”

“I truly had a marvelous time with magnificent surfing and swimming in the sea. Also, lots of walks along the beach that I enjoyed very much. Father drove a beautiful 6-cylinder BMW sedan that cost him a fortune in repairs and he always needed me to buy petrol whenever he decided that I would not be in his way during his travels. I certainly met a few of his beautiful lady friends. The parents of a particular young lady had a big building business in Eutin, north of Lubeck, where I spent a week with them on their farm enjoying for the first time the north German hospitality. Breakfasts were a magnificent affair, with the dining room table loaded with all sorts of sausages, cheeses, jellies, marmalade, and loaves of bread. I could have fallen in love with this beauty, the younger companion of his two regular girlfriends. But my father made sure that I was never alone with her.

“What a pity!” My sarcasm was wasted on Eberhard.

“We went to Hamburg to see if I could enter an apprenticeship system as a chef in a German hotel, but as much as we tried and despite using all my father’s connections and influence, we were told that nobody was putting on apprentices as there was nothing to cook in Germany anyhow.

“After four weeks of idleness, lazing about on the Baltic coastline and being frustrated by my father’s affairs, with me the fifth wheel in the wagon, I decided to return to Hessen again and booked the train to Kassel.”

“What did your father say?”

“My father let me go reluctantly when I asked for the return of the money I had lent him. It took him three days to acquire. I returned to the American zone on one of the many passports my father possessed. To this day, I still remember the border guard saying ‘You had better be back tomorrow morning as your pass is expiring!’ I told him, not to worry, that I was only going across the border to Kassel and I would be back. The passport was sent back to my father by mail.”

Poppies amongst the vines

The Sepulchral Chapel

Stuttgart city

It had been a steep climb up the hillside to the  Sepulchral Chapel on Württemberg Mountain, which Eberhard told me was built between 1820 and 1824. King Wilhelm I of Württemberg and his family were buried there. This position on top of a small mountain allowed us a view over Stuttgart and the surrounding vineyards.

Steep hillsides

“What had happened to Werner?”

“Due to no one making the payments for his school education he had to leave the private school, the Herrmann Litz Schule.  He was taken in by the German system of making farmers out of young people through intensive training at state run farms. He had a nice break on a beautiful farm in the upper Rhön Mountains, but stupid fellow, he volunteered to join the German army while still sixteen. He was in the army in East Prussia in 1944  when he was found out as being underage and transferred to the Arbeits Dienst. Werner became very sick with pneumonia in the winter of 1944. He was sent back to a hospital near Berlin where he was diagnosed as having TB. He saw the end of the war out in hospitals and luckily was transferred back to central Germany early in the winter of 1945.  So he missed the Russian march through East Germany and on to Berlin.

“In Kassel I made contact with my girlfriend whose family had returned to the city that was their hometown. She wanted to marry me, but I was not ready to marry having thought for years that I would never marry and tie myself down. In Kassel I made the final approach to the German education department to get permission to enter the teaching profession. I was told in no uncertain terms that there was no hope for young men like me who went through the teaching training system of the former Third Reich. I was asked again where I lived and I had to tell them that I was living in an air-raid shelter temporarily while trying to clear up my employment prospects.”

A traffic island roundabout

By now we were hungry and thirsty so descended the steep tracks down to a village where my attention was caught by an attractive flower box which I deduced to be a former wine press.

“As I did not want to lose my girlfriend and with her being a very persistent woman, I again approached the city council for a flat to live in. But they also asked, ‘Why aren’t you in Fulda where you are supposed to be?’ All my explanations about not having a home there fell on deaf ears, as they had ever since the end of the war with all these institutions. One particular public servant, when trying to be helpful, suggested that I enter the building industry for the reconstruction of the nearly totally destroyed Germany, either as a bricklayer or as a carpenter. I literally said, ‘Bricklaying is much too dirty for me. I’ll become a carpenter.’“

“Germany had by then instituted a rehabilitation system for ex-soldiers to teach them a trade during a one year period of intense training and working, in lieu of the customary three year period. I was allocated to a local building firm. Mr. Iffert, the owner, was willing to try me out and I got a single roomed flat within walking distance of his business.”

To be continued.

Wildflowers, wilderness and wine

I was delighted this week to receive confirmation from Colin Campbell that he would accept a copy of Wildflowers, wilderness and wine. He will read it and send reviews to the Gardening Australia magazine and to the Courier-Mail newspaper referring readers to www.australia-book.com.au

I’ve received a number of emails from overseas readers of these posts asking how we have fared in the Queensland floods. Please check out my posts on this topic on http://fayhelwig.com

CHAPTER FIFTEEN concludes

“We could sit here and look at this view all day, ” Eberhard put down his empty beer glass, “but you asked me to bring you here to the mountains, so let’s stretch our legs.”

Below us the blue alpine lake – the Walchensee - lay trapped between the mountains, to the south snow glistened brightly over the Bavarian Alps and immediately in front loomed the sharp knob that Eberhard proposed we should climb. The way it zig-zagged up the steep mountainside indicated it would test our agility.

Hill climb

“Take it easy – no need to get breathless,” Eberhard instructed. Perhaps it was because I had grown up on the plains of the Darling Downs or perhaps it was because I spent much of my youth riding horses, that I never developed the lung capacity to handle climbing as easily as Eberhard. He always laughed when he had to pull me up steep ascents.

The gravel of the well worn path was loose under our boots as we steadily wound our way towards the peak, where I was glad to once more sit upon a rock and survey the view.

Walchensee

Reluctant to leave, I said, “Tell me about Ziegenhain.”

“The Americans at Ziegenhain made me very welcome and allowed me to live in an American occupied house commandeered by the Quarter Master Company. I was about to commence the best year of my young life!”

“Why did you enjoy Ziegenhain so much?”

“From being merely a lowly kitchen hand and pot scrubber at Idstein, I was promoted to a cook, placed on the army payroll and welcomed as a favourable addition by the commanding officer. It was a busy kitchen, feeding four hundred soldiers daily.”

True to form, Eberhard had appreciated the opportunity to undertake meaningful work again. I had worked beside him long enough to know how he likes to bustle about from one job to another. He is never happier than when he feels needed and useful. Any other man working in such a busy kitchen might have found the work schedule onerous, but not Eberhard. He would have relished the organizational challenge and the race against the clock to serve meals on time.

Ziegenhain kitchen staff

“We started every morning at five o’clock by cutting bread, opening tins of fruit, getting the cereals ready, making toast and frying eggs, before the first soldiers arrived to be fed at seven o’clock. After breakfast I prepared steaks, chickens and vegetables for lunch.”

“What about the cooks – when did you eat?”

“We kitchen staff had our first meal about ten o’clock and I’d demolish a pile of eggs, a steak, a couple of slices of bread, and if I had the inclination, I could round this off with half a litre of ice-cream and a tin of peaches.”  Eberhard glowed with remembered satisfaction.

“What a glutton!”

“I worked so hard that I needed the energy and although my frame filled out, I never gained any superfluous weight.”

Eberhard at Zeigenhain 1946

“We had endless supplies of Havana cigars and I became quite a proficient cigar smoker. A very short afternoon break after lunch, saw us back in the kitchen until 9 o’clock at night, where everything had to be left spic and span for the next morning. Twice a week, we stayed on in the kitchen, baking great big slabs of sponge cake and did not get back to quarters, which were only five  minutes walking distance from the kitchen, until after midnight. I learned to play poker at these sessions, where crates of brandy, cognac and whiskey bottles were always handy. Thinking back on it today, I have never smoked or drank the better, or had life in such abundance again. The visit to the PX was at least once a month and the boxes of chocolate and other goods in my cupboard grew weekly for I really did not eat any of these goods with all the other food readily available in the kitchen. Ach Fay, that was the life! The dining-room staff, all young German women, flirted a lot, but their parents were very strict and enforced their return to homes in a neighbouring village every evening. Not that that stopped some of us from courting them there.”

“With any luck?”

“Not really, for their parents discouraged us. Then one night a mate and I were waylaid by a couple of lads from the village.” Eberhard laughed.  “Clearly they wanted to disguise their identities to avoid trouble with the Police, so they had tied sheaves of grain around their bodies. If anything, they looked more like scarecrows than serious assailants.”

“Didn’t all that straw hinder them?”

“Of course it did. When they jumped us, my American friend and I grabbed a couple of sticks and we gave a good account of ourselves, forcing them to run off. We took that ambush as a warning – we weren’t making any progress with the girls anyway.”

“Not worth the risk?”

“No.”

3rd QM.Co.Ziegenhain, Dining Room, Christmas 1945

“Alcohol almost killed me though. The amount we used to drink was incredible. The stores were replenished regularly, but when we emptied the crates before the next issue, we simply mixed surgical spirit into our pineapple juice.”

“Surgical spirit? Where did you get that?”

“The medical orderlies lived in the same quarters as the kitchen staff, so they provided the surgical spirit and we provided the pineapple juice.”

“It’s a wonder you’re alive to tell the tale!”

“Probably the closest brush I had with death was the day I downed an entire bottle of whiskey in one go. It began as a dare when I was stupid enough to say I would bet anyone that I could drink a bottle of whiskey without taking it away from my lips.”

“And?”

“I lay down and went to sleep for three days.” Although Eberhard’s face bore a deadpan expression, his eyes flickered with amusement at my horror.

“You could have died!”

“I guess the medical staff kept me alive.

Eberhard stretched and reached out a hand to pull me to my feet.

“Don’t be so impatient,” I urged.  “Continue telling me about Ziegenhain.”

“Later. There’s a change in the air. A storm could be coming. We should get down off this mountain.”

Bavarian-Austrian Alps

Scudding clouds had thickened. We descended the zigzag track in a speedier manner than we had climbed it earlier and took the chair lift down to the Walchensee.

Once more seated in the hire car I asked, “Where are we going now?”

“Back to Munich, via Benediktbeuern. There’s a spectacular old monastery there.”

Benedictine Monastery

Monastery beer garden

“Let us take a table over near the wall,” Eberhard suggested.  “I reckon the rain will catch up with us here within a few minutes.”

He ordered our drinks and at my urging resumed telling me about his time in Ziegenhain.

“Once a fortnight the American Red Cross put on a dance and nearly everyone in the house where I lived brought two young ladies home later to make sure that a friend wouldn’t miss out on company for the night.”

“So, there was a girl for you too?”

“Believe it or not, I never left the poker games.”

“That is hard to believe.”

Eberhard smiled indulgently. “I was still a virgin until I started going to parties with two of the American cooks. At one of these a girl attached herself to me. She was big and buxom, about my age, but heavier. She said she preferred me to an American.”

“What was so special about you?”  My gibe was deliberately provocative.

“What’s so special about an American?” Eberhard shot the question at me, but did not wait for an answer. “When she was with me the supply of American goods was just as free. Really, that’s all those girls ever wanted – just a few trinkets.”

I was tempted to make a comment about the chauvinism of men, but I resisted the impulse. I was keenly interested in hearing Eberhard describe this episode in his life.

“She was happy to share my bed. We had a marvellous love affair! When the house had to be vacated and returned to its owners, we had great trouble cleaning out the room.”

“Why?”

“During the warmer months we hadn’t lit the pot-belly stove that served as a repository for all our used condoms. It was overflowing, since we made love every time we stirred during the night. Ach, she was a girl with a determined sexual appetite, and I was more than willing to satisfy her desires.”

“Such self-sacrifice!”

So intent was Eberhard on relating these pleasurable memories that he seemed oblivious to my sarcasm.

“On my twentieth birthday I took a day off. The two of us went for a long walk and made love in the bushes.”

It was easy to picture the young couple strolling through the countryside on a warm July afternoon. The grain crops would be ripening and the larks singing. They would have followed wanderwegs amongst the cultivated fields and into the surrounding forest, just as we had done at Wolferborn.

Treysa to Ziegenhain map

“We were drinking brandy, carrying the bottles with us. When we reached the soccer fields as twilight set in we rested there for the evening. And that’s where I found myself waking up next morning, under a goal post with a half empty bottle of brandy in my hand, but no girlfriend in my arms.”

“She must have decided to go home.”

“Sure, but I felt a twentieth birthday had to be celebrated and that’s what I did! I was so glad to be alive and well. The previous year I was still suffering the effects of my wounds. Nor did I have anything to toast life with in the Prisoner of War camp at Treysa.”

That is something I would do well to keep in mind, when I feel like being critical of Eberhard’s blasé contentment with his life at Ziegenhain.  Eberhard had seen sights and encountered death in ways that I had never experienced.

“What brought this good life to an end?”

“In the middle of 1947 the Americans decided that all Alien members of the then American Occupation Forces had to join a special DP battalion. This didn’t suit me at all. I didn’t see myself as a displaced person, not in my own country.”

“What other nationalities worked for the Americans?”

“Russians, Poles, Yugoslavs and Dutch.”

Suddenly, the storm arrived, bringing with it a heavy downpour. Hurriedly most of the patrons vacated their places at the bare wooden tables, rushing indoors carrying their beer mugs and wine glasses. Sheltered by the overhang of the roof we watched the rain cascade off the awning.

Storm over the monastery

“Your position was rather extraordinary. Did you ever meet any other German officer who became part of the American army?”

“No, but the Americans employed a great many Germans in a civilian capacity.”

“How did your position differ?”

“I had the same wages as the American servicemen and PX rights.  I wore the American army uniform – the fatigues.”

“Were you subjected to army discipline?”

“What discipline? There was no discipline! Compared with the German army, they were ice-cream soldiers. They couldn’t survive without ice-cream!”

“You’re joking!”

“No. I remember the furor when we ran out one day. I was dispatched in an American army truck with a driver to a quartermaster’s depot in another village. My instructions were to return the empty canvas bags and get fresh stocks.”

I recalled the deep canvas bags that Peter’s and Paul’s ice cream came in, packed with dry ice, for the Yamsion school picnics. The boys had later dropped the left over dry ice in the waterholes of the Myall Creek to watch it bubble and steam.

“There was an American army stockade in that particular village for American soldiers who had committed crimes.  Under supervision of a guard, three of them were ordered to load the truck for me.” Eberhard smiled, reliving the memory of his youthful impertinence. “I couldn’t resist issuing a few orders myself. I deserved the dirty looks they gave me.”

I smiled, imagining the glee with which the young cook had seized the opportunity to lord it over the prisoners. His over zealous manner and German accent would have thoroughly infuriated them.

To be continued

Wildflowers, wilderness and wine

His time with the Americans at Ziegenhain taught Eberhard kitchen skills he was to later put to use in Australia when he opened his own restaurant in Toowoomba in 1979.  His Black Forest Cake recipe can be found in Fay’s book Wildflowers, wilderness and wine. www.australia-book.com.au or http://stores.lulu.com/strictlyliterary

Fay writes weekly about the life she shares with Eberhard on the Granite Belt of southern Queensland on http://fayhelwig.com

CHAPTER FIFTEEN continues

“The Bavarian weather is holding,” Eberhard smiled at me across the breakfast table. “What would you like to do today?”

Once more we were eating our breakfast at the Munich Intercity Hotel when Eberhard posed this question. I knew that there were many wonderful palaces, museums, monuments and gardens in Munich but I had discovered that my greatest joy in this period of travelling with Eberhard in Germany had been our times together walking through the countryside.

“The Alps of Switzerland were disappointing because of the rain, but I do like mountains.”

“Don’t I know! It is only a few months since we walked the Overland Trail across the highlands of Tasmania.”

“Well, do you think we could hire a car and visit the Bavarian Alps?”

“Why not! Hiring a car shouldn’t be a problem. I’ve never relinquished my German driving license.”

“You also took out an International license against your Australian driver’s license before we left home, didn’t you.”

“Of course.”

The day that I met Eberhard was a Sunday. He had then told me that as a youngster in Germany his mother had always taken the brothers on forest walks to visit other women practicing handicrafts and living a simple way of life in the countryside. I told him I had grown up in the foothills of the Bunya Mountains. He said he had not visited the Bunya Mountains National Park for a number of years and offered to take me there for a walk the following Sunday. It became our habit to visit the different National Parks or State Forests on weekends during the next few years, culminating in six days of backpacking our way along the rugged Overland Trail, walking from Cradle Mountain down to Lake St.Claire in December 1989.

Munich to Bad Tölz

“Munich to Bad Tölz will only take us an hour if we follow the Isar River by car. It’s only 50km away. Then we can drive up into the mountains above the Kochelsee. We should be able to see the snow on the Bavarian Alps from there.”

I reached into my handbag for a brochure of the region. I read that the historic spa town of Bad Tölz offered something for every traveler. Situated where the rolling foothills become the mountains of the Alps, the town flanks both sides of the Isar River, which divided it into two distinct sectors. On the eastern side of the river was the historic medieval town, complete with chapels, turrets, and walls. Older than Munich, this section offered fine examples of medieval and baroque art and architecture. The Kurverwaltung, a modern spa, whose iodine-rich waters were known for their soothing and healing powers was on the western side of the Isar River.Read more: http://www.frommers.com/destinations/badtolz/1016010001.html#ixzz19fv8HeLP

It was another glorious, sunny day. As we drew closer to the mountains fields of grain were replaced by dark pine forests and grassy meadows.

Bavarian meadow

At times the Isar River narrowed, but many views showed it as shallow, clear water running over a pebbled bed.

The Isar River

It was only when we reached a hill top overlooking Bad Tölz that Eberhard pulled the car off the road.

Bad Tölz view

We munched apples while observing the view.

”You have always walked and of course during your college and military training you would have done considerable marching, but I think it is extraordinary how far you walked – all that way from Treysa to Esch after you were released from the American Prisoner of War Camp.”

“At the time, there was no other choice. All over Germany men were walking as they made their way home. We avoided cities like Marburg because I was fearful of being turned back towards Fulda.”

Treysa to Idstein map

“Marburg is notable for chemical research and the manufacture of medications, is it not?”

“Yes now, but in the Middle Ages the city of Marburg dominated a region which later came to be known as the State of Hesse. The leading dynasty, the house of the Liudolfings, also ruled Thuringia. In 1527, Philip the Magnanimous, Landgraf of Thuringia, founded Europe’s first Protestant University the Philipps-Universitat, in Marburg. The university attained great importance in the field of medicine. The Lion of the Landgraf of Thuringia still appears in the centre of the seal of the State of Hesse,” Eberhard explained.”

“After trudging all that way, you must have been terribly disappointed not to be welcomed.”

Eberhard shrugged his shoulders. “Of course. I walked to the Idstein employment office and explained my purpose, but they weren’t helpful. The official admonished me for failing to return to Fulda. After he had said his piece, he agreed that I could remain until I sorted out my future as a teacher. However he advised me that the authorities were dismantling the Education Department of the Reich.”

“Why?”

“It was believed that teachers trained under this system would have Nazi ideals – that our minds had been brainwashed.”

“So what did you do?”

“The Idstein employment office suggested I should try the American Army camp, as they were in need of kitchen-hands. When I applied, speaking English, the Americans didn’t hesitate to put me on their payroll. I had learned English from the first day I started school. Then I continued my study of English while at the Teacher’s Training College and again while training to be an officer in the Wehrmacht. And, I had practised English as often as I could while in the POW camp.”  Eberhard’s expression evinced satisfaction.

“What work did the Americans give you?”

“I was detailed to scrub and cut carrots, peel potatoes, and about twice a week I had to gut and clean hundreds of chickens. Mostly I was just getting everything ready for the American kitchen staff to do the cooking.”

“Did the army provide accommodation too?”

“No. I lived with a family, who were only too glad to take my rent money, and the extra food I could provide from the army kitchen. The disruption to farming, the loss of manpower and the lack of transport facilities meant there were continuing shortages for several years.”

The main street of Bad Tölz was a pedestrian mall, blocked to traffic by large ceramic bowls overflowing with colourful pansies. We strolled along the cobblestones admiring the architecture. The frontage of many buildings was decorated with paintings.

Coblestones and pansies

“If you like these, wait till you see the buildings at Kochel – that’s where they really do have some beautifully painted shop fronts.”

“It is so different here in Bavaria to Wolferborn and the rest of Hesse.”

“Different people – different culture – Catholic here, Protestant there.”

The steep Kochel Mountains are grouped in a semicircle around the Kochelsee on the edge of the Upper Bavarian Alps. The Kochelsee is an idyllically located lake, with its southern banks already in the mountains. It covers an area of around six square kilometers and is up to 66 metres deep. During the mid-19th century, Kochel briefly added “Bad” to the town name after sodium-rich springs were discovered. King Ludwig II and even Otto von Bismarck came to take to the waters but after a decade the spring dried up and the town went back to its small-town ways.

Kochelsee Map

“This town’s hero is the Schmied von Kochel – the blacksmith of Kochel. Balthasar Maier led a peasant’s revolt on Christmas Eve 1705, known as the Sendlinger Mordweihnacht, against the occupation of Bavaria by Austrian troops during the War of Spanish Succession. Armed with farming implements, a few thousand peasants attacked the imperial troops in Munich. Lot of good it did them – most of the peasants were slaughtered after they surrendered.”

Kochel Gasthof Panoramio photo by Karthäuser

As Eberhard had said, almost every shop facade in Kochel was painted with Lueftlmalerei murals.

Wildflowers on the shore of the Kochelsee

Even more spectacular than the Kochelsee was the Walchensee. The road we took twisted its way up a steep mountain side and down again to a true Alpine lake completely encircled by the mountains. I did not count them, but according to my brochure the road has 36 curves to overcome the 200 metre altitude difference. At the Walchensee we found a chair lift that would carry us even further up into the mountains.

Chair lift above the Walchensee

“Now the walking begins,” Eberhard said, “But let us eat first at the guesthouse just ahead of us here.”

We seated ourselves at a wooden bench looking down the steep slope at the Walchensee far below. While waiting for our soup Eberhard drank a thirst quenching beer while I contented myself with a glass or white wine.

Bavarian lunch

“While we eat lunch, tell me why did you go Ziegenhain? When we drove through there with Werner and Minna, you said you were transferred there with the army unit?”

“Not exactly transferred. Amongst my kitchen colleagues in Idstein was a young woman who was fraternising with the American soldiers. The girls clearly preferred the American soldiers over German lads, since they could provide clothing, food, chocolates, and of course they had the money to give a girl a good time.”

“And this caused resentment?”

“Too right! It became the custom of young and frustrated German men to grab any girl known to fraternise with the Americans and crop her hair short.”

“Men invariably see women as their property.” My sympathy was with the girls.

Eberhard stared at me, dismayed by my comment. “Don’t be so critical.”

“Surely you didn’t approve of such vindictive punishment?”

“No, of course not! That’s why I made a silly mistake. Without thinking how she might interpret my remarks, I teased her that she was lucky she hadn’t lost her hair. She perceived my jesting as a threat. The Idstein Police arrested me and hauled me off to prison, saying I had been denounced as a member of the hair cutting gang!”

The twists and turns in his story never ceased to astound me. “What a turn around. From a prisoner of the Americans to a prisoner of your own people!”

“I was interrogated daily. The Police were persistent, advising me to confess.  I replied that hurting any girl was alien to my character. Moreover, I was also fraternising with the Americans. They kept me in prison almost two weeks.  To add to my troubles, the Idstein Police knew I was in their city illegally, since I should have returned to Fulda.”

“You really were in a predicament.”

“Then, on a Sunday morning, I was ordered to leave town within twenty-four hours, or be sentenced to three months in jail. I told my friends in the American army kitchen the conditions of my release, and they rescued me.  By ten o’clock I was travelling in a jeep with an officer and his driver and on the way to the main Quarter Master Company at Ziegenhain.”

“That’s ironic. You had walked all the way from Treysa to Idstein, only to return to Ziegenhain, fifteen kilometres from Treysa.”

“At least I didn’t have to walk back,” Eberhard laughed.

To be continued

Wildflowers, wilderness and wine

In Wildflowers, wilderness and wine you may read about the life that Eberhard and Fay established at Das Helwig Haus on the Granite Belt of southern Queensland two years after this trip to Germany in 1990. Fay had observed the food and culture during her travels with Eberhard which enabled her to create an Australian Bed and Breakfast home with German ambiance. http://www.australia-book.com.au http://stores.lulu.com/strictlyliterary

Fay continues to write about her way of life on the Granite Belt with weekly posts on http://fayhelwig.com

Eberhard’s account of his first short period in hospital, his two weeks of suffering as a Prisoner of War of the Americans and his return to a hospital for further treatment was shared with readers in Chapter Six of THE FORGOTTEN ONES. By clicking on older entries at the bottom of this page, you can go back to earlier chapters to refresh your memory.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN begins

Our breakfast at the Munich Intercity Hotel took the form of a generous buffet. Eberhard left me momentarily at the table to return to the buffet for a second serving.

A waiter approached with the coffee pot. “Coffee?”He asked.

“Please,” I indicated our two empty cups.

He departed and returned with tea.

“He misheard me,” I explained to Eberhard. “I should have said bitte, not please.”

“Never mind. It’s a sunny day again. I think we should take an S-Bahn train out to a small town near Grunwald and walk from there along the Isar River.”

We travelled in silence as the electric train slid effortlessly between stations until we reached our destination. Eberhard set a brisk pace, choosing a path beside wheat fields that led us towards the distant forest lining the high banks of the river. The cool wind of the previous day had dropped and the sun shone brightly. Hand in hand and striding purposely, we had almost reached the forest when I once more sighted a magnificent display of the red poppies. This time they were growing amongst self-sown canola, between rows of fresh young wheat. Clearly the farmer had used a pre-emergent herbicide to prevent poppies from growing amongst the wheat.

Isar River poppies

“The farmers here are obliged to maintain a cover on their soil at all times to avoid contamination of the Munich water catchment,” Eberhard said. “All water that drains off this field will end in the Isar River.”

“That explains why the farmers here are practicing strip-cropping. “

We left the fields behind as we entered the pine forest and began to follow a narrow gravel road down the hillside towards the river. In the distance I heard church bells tolling the hour.

Isar River valley

“There’s probably a cloister or a monastery over there on the far bank of the river,” Eberhard conjectured. “Did I tell you that Weyhers was a Catholic village?”

“No.”

“The normal greeting at school was ‘Guten Morgen, Kinder,’ and we replied ‘Guten Morgen, Herr Lehrer.’ The salute to the Fuhrer wasn’t used at all. But, whenever Werner and I walked past the local Catholic priest we greeted him with the words, ‘Heil Hitler.’ He certainly admonished us as being a couple of young heathen.”

“You larrikins!”

“The yard owned by the two sisters joined the big walled garden and orchard that belonged to the priest. It was our habit to invite our school friends who played with us in the garden to climb over the wall where we helped ourselves to whatever fruit was in season. Not for taking home, but for eating on the spot.”

“Were you ever caught?”

“No, not Werner and I. But it gave us great pleasure knowing our playmates would have to confess their sins to the priest the next Saturday. This always entailed some punishment for them, with a few extra Hail Mary’s thrown in.”

The unmistakable sound of a German brass band playing what I had always known as Oompah music broke the forest quiet, drifting up from the river valley.

“Where’s that music coming from?”

“It must be one of the river rafts – it’s coming closer. Let’s get off this gravel road and cut through the trees  – see if we can find a lookout.” Eberhard thrust aside the undergrowth overgrowing a narrow track clearing our way through to a headland as the sound receded. “Dammit! We missed them!”

“What exactly did we miss?”

“I heard about these excursions from Werner. We’ll probably hear more rafts coming. It’s a tourist gimmick. They start in Munich and spend a few hours floating down the river. The people are bussed back, the log raft is trucked back, and the next day comes down with another group.”

Biergarten Brückenwirt Panoramio photo by Franco01

“What are they doing?”

“They’re usually all male groups. I guess they spend the trip drinking beer and singing along with the band. It’s a great example of Bavarians knowing how to have fun and turn their joi de vivre into a profitable venture.”

“Hey, what’s this?” As we turned away from the river to return to the road, a metal plaque on a tree beside the track attracted my attention.

Eberhard translated the wording. The plaque, erected by a historical society, recorded the discovery of Roman artifacts on this site. One coin, minted three hundred years after the birth of Christ, roughly verified the date of the settlement. “The river down there was a known route of the Romans.”

“Doesn’t it give you an eerie feeling when you think that you are treading on ground where Roman legions marched?”I asked.

“I don’t think I’ve ever given the ghosts of history much thought.”

Ten more minutes of walking brought us down on to the main road running parallel with the river.

Rounding a bend in the river we came upon a modest hotel, with a large Biergarten fronting the river.  “Would you like to eat there?”  Eberhard pointed to trestle tables in the shade of a large chestnut tree.

“Sure.  It’s a lovely setting.”

Eberhard brushed fallen pink petals from the bare boards, scrubbed and weathered over many years to a silvery sheen to allow us to sit under a Chestnut tree. He ordered a stein of beer for himself, a glass of house wine for me, and a platter of cold sausage meats with black bread.

A Chestnut tree

Our platter arrived and Eberhard ordered another round of drinks.

Our leisurely lunch completed, we returned along the road beside the river, until the gravel track appeared on our right. It was a slow climb with the sun warming our backs.

“When did you learn the war was over?

“I was still in hospital on the 8^th May when it was announced over the radio that Hitler was dead, that Admiral Doenitz was the commander of the German forces and that he had capitulated to the Allies.”

“So what happened then?”

“One of the weekly inspections was by the American doctor who was in charge of our hospital. He was a reasonable man in my eyes until that day, when he decided not to let me go home straight from the hospital, but instead handed me over to the American Military Authorities. I became a Prisoner of War again, this time at Treysa where the Americans had taken over the Rathaus in the middle of the Town Square and erected a high, chain-wire fence around the perimeter to form the POW camp. Although our movements weren’t restricted inside the camp, there was an expectation that we would remain in our rooms. Officers were segregated from the other ranks. There were twelve officers in the room I shared.”

Rathaus Treysa Panoramio photo by sander-rainer

“How did you occupy your time?”

“Twice a day we paraded while the guards counted us to see if we were all present. Meal times became the most important time of the day. The Americans supplied a meagre amount of food. When my fellow officers realised I could cook and had a good eye for portions, they nominated me to divide the rations.”

I recognised that once again Eberhard had accepted responsibility as an honour.

“I listened to them saying ‘hmmm’ while watching me like hawks. Everyone appeared fearful of being cheated. Each man received a dice sized cube of butter and a tiny portion of cheese. I cut the sausages into twelve equal pieces and divided the bread into an even number of slices. We were always hungry.”

“How long were you held there?”

“Until just after my nineteenth birthday. The authorities decided that German soldiers should be sent home, but firstly American army officers interrogated the prisoners. We had to undergo de-Nazification before we could be released. I’m sure they just stuck a pin in a list of names each morning. I was impatient to be interviewed, but I was only a small cog in the German Reich. As I had avoided becoming a member of the Partei, I received my clearance without difficulty. On July 11, four of us stood outside the gate and wondered how we could travel to our homes hundreds of kilometres away.”

“What was the problem?”

“We had no money and nothing to barter. In addition, I was faced with a ruling requiring all Germans to return to the town where they resided on September 3, 1939. I had no relatives or home remaining in Fulda, so I decided to return to Esch, near Idstein.”

“Why Esch?”

“I had left all my possessions – books, photo album, violin and other personal items with a family there and I wanted to reclaim them. Also, I was hopeful of resuming my education and becoming a qualified teacher.”

“How did you avoid the restrictions?”

“We all stuck together for a few days, dodging the allied patrols as we headed in a south-western direction. Although we were legally free, I feared they would turn me back towards Fulda. They had watch points at all the bridges. Eventually a patrol spotted us although we had kept to the side roads and fields. Their only interest was to check that we had dismissal papers from the POW camp. They couldn’t have cared less where we went. We needed to keep on the move, so we begged for food, frequently without success. All I possessed was a small German knapsack, called a Brotbeutel, and this was attached with loops to my army belt. It was about the size of an Australian canvas water bag. In it I carried a safety razor, a small piece of soap and a very small hand towel, with a change of underclothes.”

I marvelled at his recall and then remembered that it is so often the trivial things one recalls when reviewing the painful moments of our lives.

“Late one evening we found a farmer’s wife who allowed us to stay overnight in her barn and to our relief offered us a proper meal, which we ate in the kitchen with her two small children and herself. After the others went out to camp in the hay I engaged her in general conversation about conditions in the country. I discovered that she had lost her husband in Russia and could seldom find anybody on the neighbouring farms to help her with the work. We talked long into the evening. She told me that the German population was demoralised and everyone was having a hard time just doing the best they could to stay alive.”

“Did you sleep with her?”

“No. I’ve no doubt I could have married the widow and acquired the farm if I had chosen to remain. After we cleaned up at the yard pump the next morning the woman invited us for a breakfast of bacon and eggs with a slice of bread. She asked why we must leave? She begged me to stay with her and help on her farm.”

“You refused?’

“Yes. After another week with very little food and constant walking I arrived at Esch. My friends were desperately ill at ease. The family claimed that looters had stolen all my things. More likely, they never expected to see me again and had sold my few personal effects to obtain food.” Eberhard heaved a sigh or resignation. “They didn’t even invite me to stay overnight.”

As we returned on the electric S-Bahn train to Munich I asked Eberhard about the miniature suburbs of tiny dwellings, not much bigger than a child’s cubby house, which I had observed beside the railway line on the edge of every city.   Each structure was situated within a small square vegetable plot, with perhaps one cherry or apple tree shading the doorway and a grape vine or clematis scrambling over the walls.

“Do people live in those huts?” I had seldom seen people working amongst the rows of neatly planted vegetables, nor the familiar signs of habitation – cars or clothing on washing lines.

“Not permanently. During summer weekends when there’s a lot of activity in the gardens, people use these buildings much like a garden gazebo – somewhere to relax with a cool drink and talk to the neighbours.”

“Some of those sheds are very rustic. I remember seeing one group of little log cabins.”

“Obviously a new development. The land is leased from the railway department or city councils. Brother Uwe sheltered in one of these Schrebergartens for a number of years after the war when housing was scarce, until an apartment became available in Berlin. As I told you earlier, he was a prisoner in Siberia until early in 1949.  When tuberculosis was diagnosed he was allowed to return to German hospitals.  I visited him in a Bad Neustadt hospital.  He has received a one hundred percent invalid pension from the German government ever since leaving hospital.”

“And Werner got TB too, didn’t he?”

“Yes, silly fool brought a lot of his troubles on himself by volunteering.”

Uwe and Eberhard had maintained twice yearly exchanges of Christmas and birthday greetings. They never developed a close relationship as boys and Eberhard reckoned there was no reason to go out of our way to visit Uwe in Berlin on this holiday.

To be continued.

Wildflowers, wilderness and wine

In my book Wildflowers, wilderness and wine I shared with my readers a year in our lives here on the Granite Belt. You may purchase the book on http://stores.lulu.com/strictlyliterary or www.australia-book.com.au

This week on http://fayhelwig.com I have posted an account of how we have spent the previous week. Read and enjoy!

CHAPTER FOURTEEN concludes

Our path through the forest took us over the hills and from the high ground provided an excellent view of the Starnberger See. This extended walk gave Eberhard the opportunity to tell me more about his battalion’s encounters with the advancing Americans. As every day passed more Americans were pouring over the Rhine River from France and others were surging up from Bavaria.

“Early the next morning, 29th March 1945, one of our forward companies surprised an American unit and took about a hundred prisoners, plus all their equipment.”

It really was amazing to consider how effectively these young officers fought against the better equipped but undisciplined Americans.

“We were rapidly acquiring the trappings and ordnance of a motorised battalion. With each encounter we were gaining experience and expected to soon be beating the pants off them!”

“Obviously, the Americans couldn’t allow your successes to continue.”

“Belatedly, they recognised the danger we posed and made a concerted effort to pin us down. We stopped in Hausen Arnsbach. The village was situated on a knoll in the middle of open fields, with forests two kilometres away in the east.”

“Wasn’t that rather an exposed position?”

“I believe our commanders suspected the Americans were already positioned in the forest. The hill top afforded us a view in all directions. We dispersed into houses with a platoon or more to each house. My platoon was placed in the sixth house along the road, where we were ordered to remain in the basement. It was intended that we rest – none of us had slept the previous night.”

“The Lieutenant in charge of our platoon placed an observer at the top of the house to keep watch from a window under the roof. We heard nothing for two hours, apart from aircraft noise, nor saw any activity.”

Our rambling through the forest brought us over the hills and away from views of the Starnberger See. Once more we were amongst cultivated fields as we approached the small village of Neufahrn.

Starnberg Google image

We were hungry and decided to seek out a local establishment where we could get a meal. Eberhard knew my preference was always to eat in an unpretentious cafe where the food was wholesome and authentically German.

Bavarian stove

Although our meal was served from the kitchen, Eberhard could not take his eyes off the unusual stove in the midst of the dining tables.

“In cooler weather they would burn wood in that fire to heat this whole room,” he explained, “and probably keep a pot of soup on the boil.”

Replete from yet another hearty meal we set out to walk back towards the lake taking a different wanderweg through the fields. Clearly the weather here was warmer than in the north at Wolferborn, or in Switzerland, as we encountered several fields of the red poppies, which Eberhard always referred to as, “The Mohn.”

Panoramio photo of Mohnfeld bei Neufahrn by Franco01

“This is delightful,” I said. “It is the way I have always pictured the German countryside. It must look really different to when you were skirmishing with the Americans.”

“It sure is. The ground was still half frozen and the deciduous trees hadn’t yet leafed out.”

I observed the way Eberhard clenched his hands and then cracked his knuckles. There was a grim resignation in the way the corners of his mouth tightened as he prepared to continue his tale.  I realised he was remembering how his platoon had endured a lull before the storm that would inevitably overtake his battalion.

“The Americans had watched us move into the village. At noon they commenced an effective bombardment with tank artillery and mortars. Our lookout was called down. Within minutes the first mortar hit the house and another struck the barn behind the house. Judging by the noise the mortars were striking every house in the village.”

“Were you frightened?”

“No. The Lieutenant and eleven men were sitting in the cellar with the family of the house occupying another basement room. I sat on the stairs, the top step, while my friends in the basement urged me to come down to their comparative safety.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want to die like a rat in a hole. By then I was pretty tired and disgusted with the whole thing. I opened a packet of cigarettes, a hundred pack, and chain smoked while listening to the bombardment.”

I pictured him sitting with his back against the jamb of the door, steadily smoking.

“An ear splitting crack came from within the basement. I leaped down the stairs, horrified to see the blast had struck my mates. The Americans had fired a tank shell through the very small cellar window and it exploded in the confined space.”

“So, you would have died if you had remained with your platoon?” His lucky escape was astounding.

“Yes. Acting instinctively, I bolted back up the stairs, just as a second explosion went off behind me and threw me face down on the top landing. There was no escape – mortars were falling in the yard too.”

“What did you do?”

“I scrambled over the debris and down the stairs once more. I saw at a glance that the men of my platoon, with the exception of one injured fellow, were all dead. The second tank shell had entered through the other basement window, killing the family. I heard my wounded mate screaming for assistance and saw that he was pleading for a tourniquet.  His leg was bleeding profusely – just hanging by a thread. I fumbled, trying to take the belt off my army overcoat and had just undone the buckle when I saw blood streaming down my right hand. I fainted.”

“Fainted?”

“Yes, before I even realised I was wounded, I fainted and toppled amongst my dead friends. When I recovered consciousness, I helped apply the tourniquet and confirmed that the others were dead.”

“What about your own injuries?”

“My overcoat was in shreds over the upper arm and I started feeling the pain. Until then I hadn’t felt any pain. I decided to make my way to the First Aid station to get assistance for my wounded fellow officer. I climbed over the rubble at the southern end of the house and observed that half the house was demolished. The barn on the other side of the yard was badly damaged too.”

“What terrible devastation your battalion had brought upon the village.”

“Worse was to come! I was still dazed and didn’t heed my training to avoid moving about during an artillery barrage.  Just crouching, I ran towards the next house. At once, bullets whizzed past me, prompting me to jump the distance and lie on the ground behind the house.”

“It seems to me that you were leading a charmed life!”

“Under cover of their artillery fire, the Americans had moved up and encircled the village. I continued crawling between houses, low on my belly, still hearing the bullets flying above me. Adding to my despair,  I had taken another hit.”

“Where?”

“In the backside!  I could feel the wetness of blood trickling down my legs and I could see a red stain seeping through my trousers, but I kept on crawling towards the First Aid post.”

“Oh how dreadful!”

“The medical orderly could see the blood oozing out of my arm and immediately insisted on slitting the sleeve along the outside of my tunic, through the shirt and undershirt until he uncovered several shrapnel wounds to my elbow and upper arm. He tut tutted a bit as his supplies were limited, but he bandaged my arm tightly to stop the blood flowing.”

“What about your other wound?”

Eberhard surprised me by chuckling. “Initially, the lack of pain from the second wound, where I thought I had copped a bullet in my backside didn’t surprise me. You see I hadn’t felt the pain of the shrapnel wounds during those first shocking moments in the basement. The orderly discovered a bullet hole through my water flask.”

“You said, blood was staining your trousers.”

“Ach Fay, it was only red wine. I had earlier filled my Feldflasche with wine from the cellar. We were living off the land and taking supplies from villagers.”

We were in no hurry to return to Munich.  The gentle twilight would continue to provide adequate light until 10.00pm. We decided to stroll along the foreshore of the Starnberger See until we found a terrace with a view where we could relax with wine and see the sun set over the water. Hotel Lioni proved the perfect location. We settled into the comfortable cane chairs and Eberhard ordered a bottle of Reisling.

Hotel Lioni terrace Starnberger See

“The First Aid orderly asked me to report to the battalion commander further up the village.  This time I decided to hold up my wounded arm, which was bandaged and very white against my uniform and walk amongst the houses.”

“Wasn’t that a bit foolhardy?”

“I didn’t feel like crawling on only one arm. To my relief the enemy didn’t shoot at me.”

“Thank God for that!”

“I sought out the battalion commander and gave him my name and rank. He had heard how I had destroyed the two tanks the previous night. He advised me of my promotion – a field promotion to Lieutenant and entered it into my Soldbuch – army pass book.”

“You had graduated!”

“He instructed me to return to my post to aid my seriously wounded Kamerade. He informed me that by four o’clock an ambulance bus should arrive to collect all the wounded.”

“I take it, that bombardment had ceased?”

“Yes, everything was quiet again. I returned to the damaged house, holding my bandaged arm above my head. Once more I viewed the tremendous devastation in the basement. By then the First Aid orderly had retrieved the wounded man after amputating his leg.”

“The fellow who had asked for your belt?”

“Yes. I felt terribly dejected.”

“It must have been horrible for you to see everyone else die around you like that.”  I reached across the table to touch his hands in a gesture of comfort.

“When the ambulance eventually arrived it stopped about a hundred metres from the village in full sight of the Americans. I helped the stretcher-bearers carry other severely wounded soldiers to the ambulance. They held white flags to indicate we were non-combatants. We weren’t bothered by enemy fire.”

“It’s nice to think of the conventions being observed.”

“Even so, I felt very exposed until we shoved the stretchers with the seriously wounded into the ambulance bus. I climbed aboard to sit amongst them. Only when the driver slammed the doors behind me did I feel relatively safe.”

Now I knew the details of my husband’s war service. In bits and pieces Eberhard had reconstructed for me the experiences of his childhood, his college days at Idstein, followed by his training as an officer in the Wehrmacht.

Starnberger See sunset

The setting of the sun over the lake appeared as symbolic of the end of this chapter of his life. As the ambulance carried him away with the other wounded his role as a fighting soldier ended.

To be continued.

Wildflowers, wilderness and wine

It was two years after we spent this extended holiday period in Germany that we moved to the Granite Belt of southern Queensland to establish Das Helwig Haus B&B. While Eberhard began constructing the guest wing, I created an extensive garden featuring many of the flowers, shrubs and trees I had seen in Germany. I recognised that in the cool mountain highlands of the Granite Belt we would be able to grow the type of garden I had seen in the Northern Hemisphere. The story of how we  established our garden is told in Wildflowers, wilderness and wine available on http://stores.lulu.com/strictlyliterary or http://www.australia-book.com.au

I also write and illustrate with photographs the life we share on the Granite Belt on http://fayhelwig.com