Posts Tagged ‘Eberhard’

CHAPTER TEN

We said a temporary farewell to Werner and Minna on the railway station at Gelnhausen. Their new Wolferborn house, built over the foundations of the huge farm barn on the rear of the allotment, now looked down over the original Lehman home. Eberhard had decided that while they undertook the process of transferring furniture and other possessions to the new building we would head south and to visit the popular tourism sites. We boarded the train at Gehnhausen with the intention of travelling down to Switzerland and to return via Bavaria.

When we were settled into our seats, alone in a first class compartment, I urged Eberhard to tell me about his experiences after leaving Kassel as an Officer Candidate.

As the train sped towards  Frankfurt Eberhard resumed his narrative.  “Ach Fay, life in the Wehrmacht proved a disappointment to me, right from the beginning.”

“Didn’t the girls come running when they saw you in uniform?” I teased.

“Those terrible uniforms!”  Eberhard gave a derisive snort. “The uniforms we were issued were all second hand and in dreadful shape. The knee high boots – Knobelbecher were ill fitting and caused my feet a lot of pain during the next three months.”

“But you must have been relieved to be finally in the army at Koblenz and way from the bullies of the Arbeits Dienst.”

Koblenz Panoramio photo by perrycomo

“We were still treated like the dumbest people in the world – not students of intelligence.” Indignation registered in his voice. “Other platoons had Sergeants as instructors, but our platoon had the unfortunate luck of having Lance Corporal Silber as instructor. We named him, Yes Sir Silber.”

“Was he a petty tyrant?”

“Yes. He was determined to become a Sergeant, which prompted him to tell us that we had to become the best platoon in the whole battalion. He made life hell for us!”

“No doubt such a bunch of university students would have been intimidating. He probably recognised that all you raw recruits were smarter than he was.”

“Unfortunately, yes! Army drill in the Wehrmacht was always extremely rigorous. Yet, it took Silber four weeks of marching us backwards and forwards, rifle drill and assorted punishments to transform us into obedient soldiers.”

Forest stream Panoramio photo by Wutz

“Poor man, stuck with such a lot of superior opposition,” I smiled. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy for him.”

“At the end of the first month in the army we were told that under certain conditions we could have Saturday afternoon off and would be allowed to leave our camp to see the sights of the town.”

“Obviously, the army had allowed you no time until then to make the acquaintance of Frauleins.”

“What’s this hang-up you have with Frauleins?” Eberhard sounded offended. “We went on parade after lunch, were inspected at the front, rear and sides; and had to prove we knew how to salute an officer of any rank above us that we might encounter on the streets. After three hours of interrogation a third of our company were refused permission to leave the camp. The remainder were instructed to return to camp by eight o’clock that night.”

“Of course you passed the tests.”

Deutsches Eck - Panoramio photo by Peter Jansen

“Yes. I proceeded down into the town from the Kaserne feeling very ill at ease in my shabby uniform. Hardly had we reached the city when my suspenders broke.”

“Your trouser braces?  What did you do?”

“I ducked behind a building to fix them up.”

I couldn’t repress a giggle at the thought of Eberhard’s discomfiture. I imagined him as a morose young man, whose self-esteem plummeted due to his poor appearance in the dilapidated uniform.

“Repairing my suspenders proved impossible. There was no alternative. I held my trousers with one hand and walked back to the barracks. I didn’t venture into the city again.”

“So you only saw the countryside where you were exercising?”

“Yes. The field exercises and instructions in general infantry warfare were conducted in the eastern hills across the river from Koblenz. We trained under battle conditions on an obstacle course of bunkers, fortifications, tank traps and trenches.”

“You arrived in Koblenz in mid April. Did you have time to enjoy the spring?”

Forest trail near Koblenz, Panoramio photo by jojo_de

“Ach yes. I especially enjoyed our early mornings, marching uphill for an hour with constant singing. Each group commander urged his company to out sing the others.”

“You told me once before that all the loud singing in the army had strained your choir voice.”

“True. But they were lovely songs we sung then and it was a joy to sing.”  Eberhard softly whistled a melody.

“What’s that tune?”

“Schon bluh’n die Heckenrosen.”

“Please, translate the words,” I pleaded.

“Okay, it goes something like this:

Early mornings when the rooster crows, we march through the town and out the gate, and with loving eyes the girls look out.

Along the hedges we march, the briar roses are flowering, the birds are singing in the forest, we sing a stirring song:

About Lore, about Dore, of Trude and Sophie, about Lene and Irene and about Anne-Marie.

Yes, nice are blooming the briar roses, nice is kissing and hugging.

Roses and beauty will fade, so use your time because the world is beautiful.”

“I think it is incredible that teenagers were singing such joyful songs while learning to kill men.”

“Ach Fay, every soldier is some mother’s loved son.”

“Of course.”

“Because I was stupid enough to engage in altercations with Lance Corporal Silber, I was often privileged to carry a heavy machine gun and two ammunition boxes, plus all my own gear.”

I was amused by the deadpan expression on Eberhard’s face. He was waiting for me to laugh at his substitution of the word privilege for punishment. I was becoming accustomed to the way he revealed the revolts of his youth in this manner. It was an adult recognition that insubordination bore a price. He knew he had been an intractable youth.

“Once in the exercise area we followed orders, jumping off trees or old broken down brick walls. We vaulted and sprinted – under and over logs, and all in full army pack. I hurt myself, trying to jump a trench with a heavy pack on my back and two ammunition boxes in my hands.”

Rough Forest Panoramio photo by jojo_de

“What happened?”

“I sprained both my ankles.” Eberhard reached down and rubbed at his ankles. “The commanding officer, a Captain, pulled my boots off to inspect the swelling. He insisted I ride his horse back to the camp and report to the First Aid station.”

“That was kind of him.”

“Sensible too. By the time I got into camp, still wearing all my gear, my ankles were a sorry sight. I called for assistance for half an hour outside the First Aid station, as I couldn’t dismount by myself. Finally an indignant medical orderly appeared to ask why I was sitting on a horse and hollering?”

I smiled at the scene Eberhard was describing, imagining the woe begone, barefoot youth, sitting on the patient horse and yelling with pain and frustration.

“I had a three day rest, but when my knee boots fitted again I was discharged as fit for further service. I have carried that weakness ever since and hurt my ankles a number of times on uneven building sites. It is one of the reasons I like to take a long walk every day – I believe it keeps the muscles strong.”

“I thought you just enjoyed walking and talking with me,” I gently chided.

“Of course I do.” Eberhard smiled and kissed my hand. “After two months training sixty percent of the battalion were promoted to the rank of Corporal. I had achieved the first step towards becoming an officer.”

I heard the remembered pride in his voice. He had proved that his combination of intelligence and tenacity could win merited approval.

“Another thirty-five percent got their promotion only at the end of the three month training period.”

“What happened to the five percent who failed?”

“They were sent to the front as soldiers. By then it was mid-summer and fairly hot. We were transferred to Saargemund on the French border.”

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It would be January 1997 before Eberhard and I returned to Germany. During that winter holiday in Germany I requested  we travel by train along the Rhine River to give me an opportunity to visit Weissbaden and Koblenz to see where Eberhard had been stationed in 1943 and 1944. After arriving in Koblenz by train we booked a room at a Pension and lunched at a restaurant nearby before walking down to the Deutsches Eck to view this historic corner where the Moselle River flows into the Rhine River.

Koblenz 1997

What amazed me that winter in Germany was the total lack of colour. If you look closely you will see the only splashes of colour in the flags. This part of Germany had received the heaviest snowfall for fifty years and the Rhine Valley did not resemble the picture postcard views I had seen in travel brochures. In such vistas the steep slopes of the valley are lush with green vineyards, but when I saw these slopes the knarled fruit trees, pruned grape vines, stone walls and leaden sky were all depicted in shades of gray to black. With no more than two kilometres of visibility along the Rhine River it had a surreal appearance, as though we had stepped back in history to a time when all photography appeared in black and white images.

A Few weeks after the death of Wilhelm I, in 1888 the Prussian administrator of Koblenz came up with the idea that a special monument should be built to express general gratitude and admiration the nation felt towards Wilhelm I.

A small natural island at the very confluence of the Moselle into the Rhine was connected with the bank and the small harbour was filled in, thus creating the construction site for this monumental equestrian statue. Today, you would never guess that the island had ever existed separately from the mainland. There is now a spacious area in front of the huge monument that can be used as a parade ground.

The verse of the poet Max von Schenkendorf saying ‘The Empire will never be destroyed, for as long as you stand united and loyal to each other’ (“Nimmer wird das Reich zerstört, wenn Ihr einig seid and treu!“) was engraved upon it.

The monument was unveiled in the presence of Wilhelm II, the grandson of Wilhelm I on August 31, 1897.

The 14 m/46 ft high equestrian statue of Emperor Wilhelm I in his parade uniform, followed by the female allegory of the Empire carrying the imperial crown of Germany on a velvet cushion, was destroyed in March 1945 by an artillery shell.

In 1953 the monument was declared the Memorial to German unity by German president Theodor Heuss. The Germans remember the date since they sung their national anthem here for the first time on that occasion after the defeat in WW II. But the people of Koblenz wanted their ‘old Emperor Wilhelm’ back. This was made possible by a generous private donation  and a local fundraising effort in Koblenz . The heavy statue was unveiled to the public on 25 September 1993.  www.travelsignposts.com/Germany/

Kaiser Wilhelm Panoramio photo by perrycomo

After viewing this famous site and walking along the river for awhile, we hired a taxi to take us to the military Kaserne where Eberhard had been stationed in the eastern hills across the river.

This complex of barracks were now used as a storage depot. To my surprise we were allowed to drive around within the area until Eberhard located the building where he had been housed.

Koblenz barracks

To be continued.

Wildflowers, wilderness and wine

The lifestyle that Eberhard and I have shared during the past 17 years is revealed in my book Wildflowers, wilderness and wine available from StrictlyLiterary or http://www.australia-book.com.au

I also write weekly about my self-sufficiency interests, gardening and wildflowers on http://fayhelwig.com

CHAPTER EIGHT concludes

The trip to the Spessart region was the first of several more outings with Adolf and Margot. I always found Adolf enjoyed sharing his botanical knowledge with me while Eberhard was happy to chat of past memories with Margot.

Adolf, Eberhard and Margot, Germany 1990.

Adolf and Margot’s  home was on the opposite side of the village to Werner and Minna. It fronted onto the first street above the stream. The sitting room we were ushered into overlooked the garden at the rear. Adolf escorted me to the wide picture window, pointing out the large number of azaleas and rhododendrons he had planted to hedge the surrounds of the lawn, creating a garden room. Sometimes, he explained, when the snow melted the stream broke its banks and flooded right across the lawn. Although it was still early spring, I could imagine this retreat as a balmy place to relax on a warm summer afternoon.

Ute, a thin, tall, sun tanned young woman, had arrived earlier and worked in the kitchen baking a Swiss quiche. This open filled tart was served as a desert with the ice cream. The shallow pastry case had been spread with raw rhubarb, before a sweet custard mixture was poured over the fruit and then slowly baked until the rhubarb was tender and the custard had set.

Recognising that I had enjoyed the Apfelwein at lunch, Adolf produced a large bottle, saying this Frankfurt brand was a particular favourite of his. I sat back on the divan beneath the window, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun against the glass, sipping wine, while the others seem to be reliving the memories of their youth.

Ute broke my reverie. She was suddenly irate. Eberhard kept repeating the words, “Doch, doch!” This served as no more than punctuation. He was unable to interrupt the flow of her accusations.  Margot was powerless to get a word in to refute the allegations Ute was hurling at them. I understood enough to know she was telling them that they should be ashamed of themselves.

“What’s all this about?” I asked.

Ute could speak excellent English. With eyes flashing she exclaimed, “It’s their lack of conscience for what they did to the Jews that’s so awful!”

Eberhard spoke, “I’ve been trying to explain to Ute that we were children when Hitler came to power, and village children at that, so we never saw instances of Jews being mistreated.”

“And I can’t believe Eberhard became an officer and still remained unaware of the horrors of Auschwitz!” Ute snapped. “Niemals vergessen Auschwitz!”

“None of us can ever forget what happened,” Eberhard protested.

I spoke quietly, “Ute, let me tell you a little Australian history.”

Inherent good manners required her to exercise polite respect.  Reluctantly, she nodded assent. Adolf refilled my glass; Eberhard crossed his legs and relaxed; only Margot still frowned.

“Many Germans have emigrated to Australia. The first great wave were Silesians who went to the Barossa valley in the 1840s. Their children grew up speaking English. Probably by the time the First World War began, many of the people with German names could no longer speak that language.”

“It was the Second World War where the Germans committed atrocities!” Ute said.

“Be patient,” I pleaded. “When Eberhard and I were in the cemetery here at Wolferborn I noticed there were only German names on the Remembrance Wall.”

Wolferborn memorial wall photo by W. Daniel

“Of course.”

“I compared that commemorative wall with our stone soldiers.  Wherever you go in Australia – in every city or country town, you will see a statue of an Australian soldier. He may be leaning on his rifle butt and may have a reflective expression on his face, yet he is definitely an uniformed soldier. It is almost as though the citizens of Australia glorified their soldiers after the First World War.”

“They did!” Eberhard intruded.

I ignored his remark. “On the sides of these monuments, in alphabetical order, are listed the names of the young men who died in the Great War. You would expect that these would be  English, Irish, Welsh and Scottish names, and certainly such names are there, but the remarkable factor is the number of German names.”

“What’s your point?” Ute was becoming impatient.

“The anti-German sentiments aroused in Australia, resulted from propaganda which the government disseminated in an attempt to introduce national conscription. Many young Australian men of German descent felt compelled to volunteer to prove they were patriotic Australians.”

“Are you saying they were victims of propaganda?”

“Yes. I can understand that many Germans here during the last war, believed the propaganda. It is so easy to be wise in hindsight.”

Eberhard added, “Australians are still subjected to propaganda by their politicians. They’re constantly exposed to images of their national leaders appearing with other world leaders, giving them a false conception of Australia’s world role.”

“He’s right,” I agreed. “Those newspaper photos and TV clips are backed up with interviews and statements about what these self- important personages propose.”

“Australians are treated like mushrooms,” Eberhard continued. “They are kept in the dark and fed Mist!”

There was general laughter as the tension eased in the room.

“The point I’m trying to make,” I said, “is that all countries have their propaganda. Anti-German sentiment flourished in Australia during the First World War. I grew up near a town in Queensland formerly known as Bismarck. The locals hastily changed the name to Maclagan in honour of Sinclair-Maclagan, who led the Third Infantry Brigade ashore at Anzac Cove.”

“But, Australians didn’t commit atrocities against German families.”  Ute is determined to have the last word.

“Atrocities, no. Persecution, yes! During the First World War thousands of people of German descent were interned, without any real provocation. Again during the Second World War, the same irrational fear ensured the internment of innocent people. Ute,” I pleaded, “please try to forgive your parent’s generation. Whatever guilt they bear is not yours by association.” I took a deep breath. “You and I don’t know if we would have acted any differently in the circumstances, but we can be grateful we’ve never faced such trials.” I reached for Eberhard’s hand, remembering his sorrow at Idstein. “Those young men, like Eberhard, who served in the German armed forces, deserve the recognition that they were brave and honourable men.”

When we returned to their home we found  Werner and Minna in their lounge room where they habitually retired to wile away the evening watching television.  Minna was slumped comfortably into an easy chair.  Patricia sprawled on the sofa and wheedled her grandparents for favours.  After a few desultory questions about our day, Werner chose the program for the evening, a talent show with a talkative host enumerating the virtues of moderately gifted vocalists.  For thirty minutes I endured the gloom of the darkened room, listening to Werner criticising the performances, until I whispered to Eberhard that I found the atmosphere in the closed room stifling.  Eberhard promptly offered our apologies, saying that after a day in the car with Adolf and Margot, we both needed a short walk to stretch our legs.

Evening view

The evening sun was low on the horizon, but twilight would last another two hours. Eberhard’s face lit up with delight and he gestured towards the south, “Seh’ mal, eine Schwalbe! That’s the first returning swallow. Within a week they’ll be nesting under eaves, all around Wolferborn.”

“During these walks I’ve noticed a lot of nesting boxes hung in the trees.  What birds are they intended for?”

“Meisen, Rotkelschen, Buchfink – all tiny birds. These forests have been replanted, so there aren’t any older trees to provide nesting sites. Attitudes have really changed since I last visited Germany.”

We had been making our way gradually up a slope following a track heavily fringed on either side by copses of scraggly trees and shrubs.  We crested the hill and the village dropped out of sight behind us.

“After the war, farmers almost eradicated several insect species through over use of agricultural chemicals, and that in turn reduced the numbers of birds. Even ants became an endangered species. Now, when a forester finds an ant nest he fences it off to prevent stupid people poking sticks down the holes and disturbing the ants.”

We tramped in silence along the shaded track until we entered the deeper shade of a beech forest. Fallen leaves formed thick mulch and crumpled damply beneath our feet. Most of the debris from the storm had been cleared but occasionally Eberhard was obliged to throw a twiggy branch aside. In the far distance a cuckoo began its repetitive call.

Deep within the forest we came upon a small, cultivated clearing seeded with a fodder crop. “This Roggen – rye has been planted by the forester to supplement the diet of deer and encourage them to stay within the confines of the forest,” Eberhard explained. “As it is, the deer still cause the farmers considerable annoyance by grazing crops close to the edge of the forest. Although this forest and these deer belong to the Duke of Büdingen, when winter comes and the deer venture out into the fields, hunters will be able to shoot them for their meat.”

On the edge of the forest I had photographed one of the flimsy hides used by hunters. These were boxes perched on high poles where a couple of men could shelter from the weather while watching for deer to appear.

A hunter's box

I remembered the manner in which Ute had chastised her mother and Eberhard regarding their lack of concern for the German Jewish population. I asked, “Your mother held a senior position in the Women’s’ League. Did she ever mention the persecution of the Jews?”

“I’m sure she knew of things that we as children never heard about. Because of her religious beliefs she didn’t sanction the actions of Hitler’s minions. You’ve heard of Reichkristallnacht – the night of broken glass?”

“When the Nazis attacked the Jews?”

“Yes.  Members of the SA and SS, and possibly some senior Hitler Youth organisations, subjected the Jewish population to increasing abuse throughout the later half of the thirties. This was hardly noticeable in much of rural Germany. I never saw an arrest of a Jewish person, nor any destruction of their property, except for that one Kristallnacht.”

“Tell me what you recall.”

“I remember going to school in Fulda and passing the baker shop where I had bought bread rolls once a week. It was totally destroyed.  I never saw the owners again.”

“What did your mother say?”

“She was disgusted. Her work concerned the welfare of women. She was strongly humanitarian in her beliefs.”

Our track had taken us diagonally across a corner of the forest.  We emerged from the rapidly darkening forest near a large quarry.  Two rabbits broke cover from a thicket of blackberries covering the rim of the excavation.

“All the cobblestones for the streets of Wolferborn were taken from this Steinbruch,” Eberhard said.

Steinbruch bei Rinderbügen photo by Holger Grebe

I watched the rabbits leaping obstacles as they rounded the hill until their white tails were lost from view.

To be continued

Wildflowers, wilderness and wine

My book Wildflowers, wilderness and wine was published by StrictlyLiterary where it can be purchased by overseas readers. Australians can obtain it on http://www.australia-book.com.au

I also write weekly posts mostly about the Granite Belt region of southern Queensland on http://fayhelwig.com The Granite Belt is a district known for its wildflowers, wilderness and wine.

CHAPTER EIGHT begins

Eberhard had spent the morning with Werner wallpapering the kitchen of the new house while I ineffectually tried to assist Minna in the attic of the old house where Werner had instructed her to sort the possessions she wished to take with her. It was to prove a hopeless task and eventually everything in the attic would be moved into storage in the new house. Minna could bear to part with nothing.

We were hunched over dusty boxes and trunks when Minna discovered a collection of photographs taken during her teenage years.

Wolferborn harvest

“Ist Eberhard!” Minna pointed to a young boy, no more than twelve years of age behind her mother in a picture showing a hay making team.  Minna was seated on the horse. She rattled on excitedly, attempting to explain to me that she had been employed by the Women’s League to care for the Helwig boys when their mother had to be away from home. During the harvest season she had offered to bring all the boys to Wolferborn, but only Eberhard relished the prospect of field work.

Wolferborn friends

Another photograph showed Minna and her best friend Hilda leaning against a fence. Her brother Richard and another youth sat on the fence rail, while Eberhard squatted on the ground at their feet. Minna wiped tears from her eyes, while trying to explain to me that the young men had joined the Wehrmacht when war began and were both killed in action. She had lost a brother, Hilda a fiancée.

Wolferborn family

Another photo obviously taken the same day showed the young ones arranged on the ground on either side of  Eberhard with Minna’s parents and Hilda’s mother standing at the rear.

After lunch Eberhard informed Werner that he proposed walking with me that afternoon through the forest towards Büdingen. After a morning in the dim attic, the prospect of a forest walk pleased me greatly. The photos had shown me Eberhard’s long association with Wolferborn and it seemed that he yearned to visit the different forest haunts of his youth and to share his memories with me.

I stripped off my pullover and wrapped it around my shoulders as we trudged up the hills west  of Rinderbügen where the crusher in the stone quarry continued its daily pounding of rock into road metal. The quarry was hidden deep within the forests owned by the Duke of Büdingen and apart from the constant daily sound it imposed no sense of degradation on the countryside.

Eberhard interrupted my thoughts. “You’re unusually quiet.”

I grinned. He was the one who normally talked while I listened. “I was thinking about how tidy and clean the whole district appears. I never see any erosion on the farms. It is as if everyone is proud of the cleanliness or orderliness of their communities.” I paused before asking, “Did the Third Reich make the people of Germany proud to be Germans?”

“Hitler restored their faith in themselves.”

“And then wrecked all he had created!”

“Hitler never wanted a war with the West. At the core of his strategy was the desire to gain more Lebensraum – living space for the German people. The expansion of Germany to incorporate neighbouring territory seemed a viable solution, which met with the approval of many Germans.”

“Why?”

“For more than a hundred years Germans had been thinking of the Fatherland as including more than Prussia, Swabia and the Rhineland. Thanks to Bismarck this union was initially achieved in the the nineteenth century.”

I smiled. Eberhard would lecture me on another aspect of German history.

“Prince Otto von Bismarck was recorded in history as the Iron Chancellor and was Prime minister of Prussia between 1862 and 1890.  In 1869 Bismarck succeeded in uniting the twenty-two Prussian states north of the Main River to form a Bund – an alliance. At the time there was a squabble going on between France and Prussia about the royal succession.

The royal families of Europe were linked by arranged marriages. The Habsburgs had established their dynastic role in Germany in the thirteenth century and roughly two hundred years later one of the Habsburgs, Phillip, married the heiress to the Spanish crown. Anyway, Bismarck said something insulting to the French, which so riled them that France declared war on Prussia in 1870.

Germany decisively won the war. During the battle of Sedan, a town in northern France, the Prussian army took prisoner Napoleon the third.  The army defeated Austria, which was an ally of France. The southern states of Germany then joined the Bund, forming what became known as the first German Reich. That year, 1871, the Prussian army marched into Paris.”

“I didn’t know that. So, when the German army marched into Paris again in 1940 it was a repeat performance!”

“Indeed it was. In Bismarck’s time, France and Germany signed a Peace Declaration in Frankfurt. Elsass-Lotheringen became part of the German realm and the French were obliged to pay five Milliarden Francs compensation.”

“How much money would that be?”

“Something like five billion Francs. Because they had started the war, they were compelled to pay this in compensation to Germany. Then at Versailles, Wilhelm 1 was crowned the Emperor of the united Germany.

“So the proud French were humiliated?”

“Yes, Bismarck, having won that war, went on to become the successful first chancellor of the German Reich and Spain became a republic in 1873. However, Bismarck’s humiliation of the French fomented their intense hatred of the Germans, which was partly why they then insisted on the vengeful Treaty of Versailles in 1919.”

“And forced Germany to give up land gained fifty years earlier.”

We entered the forest and followed wide trails where the loggers had been snigging out the pine trees damaged by the storms. The ground was muddy under our feet, the forest thick and dark with no gaps in the canopy affording us a view into the distance. This was a pine plantation, thickly planted, on the steepest hills we had yet encountered during our walks. The regularity of the planting and lack of any other vegetation meant that the forest afforded little of note until we came out on to a clearing. Here foxgloves flourished. I interrupted Eberhard’s account to take photographs.

Wild foxgloves

“Hitler became brazen after he reoccupied the Rhineland in 1936 and the French made no military moves against him.”

“What about Austria, where did that fit into the picture?”

“The army invaded Austria in 1938. There was no real opposition, and a referendum favoured a political and economic union with Germany.  Hitler then demanded the Sudentland.”

“The more he was given, the more he wanted.”

“Yes, the Munich Pact was signed by Germany, Great Britain, France and Italy in September 1938, to settle the crisis over Czechoslovakia.  After Germany gained the Sudentland, Hitler upped the stakes.   He said he wanted Poland to allow Germans access across the Danzig corridor to East Prussia.”

“Why?”

“East Prussia was isolated from the rest of Germany by Polish territory.  In the meantime, while they were arguing about that, separatists in Slovakia declared their independence and Hitler used this as an excuse to take over the remainder of Czechoslovakia in March 1939. Chamberlain then insulted Hitler, by offering Poland support if Germany invaded the country. This move enraged Hitler who claimed it was a slur on the good intentions of the German nation.”

I laughed. “If he was going to be accused of wrong doing, Hitler decided he might as well be guilty of the crime.”

“He was annoyed too, with what he saw as a two-faced attitude. Hitler believed that previously Chamberlain had encouraged him with Britain’s acquiescence.”

When we set out from Wolferborn, I had anticipated that we were undertaking a forest ramble down to Büdingen. After a period of rough and tedious walking we found the trail completely blocked.

“The foresters haven’t cleared any further than here,” Eberhard sounded frustrated.

We halted, confronted by a jumbled heap of splintered trees.

“They don’t appear to be working in this stretch of forest either,” I commented. “What can we do now?”

Assertive as always, Eberhard did not hesitate. “We’ll back-track to the last trail that forked towards the east. If we take that, it should bring us out on to the road between Rinderbügen andBüdingen.”

We were following another muddy trail when Eberhard spoke again.

“Initially Russia had made overtures towards the British and French, but they rebuffed Stalin and offended him. In August, 1939, Russia and Germany signed a non-aggression pact and agreed to invade and partition Poland.”

“Surely Hitler knew such an invasion would lead to war?”

“He didn’t think so. He had played a game of brinkmanship and won every round. He believed the British and French would avoid a war with Germany.”

I found my husband’s view of how war evolved through a century of turmoil surprisingly complex.

“It was Great Britain who issued an ultimatum to Germany to withdraw troops from Poland and Great Britain who later announced she was at war with Germany. Until then Hitler had no designs on the West for he was really looking east towards the Ukraine.”

“Why did the war spread so quickly to other countries?”

“The German army was better prepared. The army and the Luftwaffe had gained useful experience while fighting on the side of General Franco’s nationalists in the Spanish Civil War.”

“But why? Why did Germany invade the Scandinavian countries?”

“To protect its supplies of iron-ore in Norway and the sea routes. The Russians had taken advantage of the situation too, to over-run Finland in November of ’39.”

“In the early stages of the war Germany must have appeared invincible.”

“Yes. The invasion of Denmark and Norway began in April 1940 and Denmark’s opposition crumbled immediately. The British sent troops to Norway but withdrew them in June to support the French, obliging the Norwegians to capitulate. During May, Hitler turned his forces on the West and Holland surrendered within a week.”

“What a litany of disaster!”

“For them it was, but each success made Hitler bolder. After the Germans marched into Paris, only Great Britain remained to continue the fight.”

“And Churchill swore the British would fight them on the beaches!”

“British propaganda! Hitler never had a plan for the invasion of England. He tried to knock out their airfields and air force, so that he could get on with his main plan – to double-cross Stalin and invade Russia.”

I changed the subject.  “Minna lost her brother in Norway, didn’t she?  This morning she showed me some old photographs of harvest time, which included you. Then she showed me a picture of Richard in uniform and said he was her Bruder. ”

“Yes. He was the only son. The old mother was never the same after word came of his death – the shock addled her brain.” Depressed by his memories, Eberhard lapsed into silence.

Richard in full dress uniform

We were not on the sidetrack long before we could hear traffic, but it appeared to be a considerable distance below us. My judgment proved correct for the trail we were following took a steeply zigzagging route down the side of the hill. This had been a strenuous walk and I was feeling irritable by the time we reached the road. My temper was not improved when I realised that there was no Wanderweg beside the road. We would have to return to Wolferborn walking on the verge of the bitumen while aggressive German drivers hurtled past us.

“This is dangerous,” Eberhard complained, “We’ll have to walk single file. I’ll take the lead.”

I sensed that Eberhard was angered by our situation. He hated the attention we were attracting from drivers. In this part of the forest the road wound around the bends of the hills, affording us very little warning of vehicles approaching at speed. Equally, two people walking on the edge of the road was a startling sight for the motorists.

A youth on a moped bike travelling towards Büdingen stopped momentarily to inquire if we needed assistance. Eberhard waved him on and I heard the boy say “Nix” before speeding off.

The road began to straighten into lengths towards Rinderbügen, granting us more warning of oncoming traffic. A Mercedes sedan overtook us. Ahead, where a wider than normal grass verge provided a convenient parking space, the driver pulled the car off the road. He watched us in his rear view mirror as we approached before opening his car door.

“Eberhard, bist du das?”

“Adolf!” Eberhard exclaimed, and continued in Deutsch to say that he had intended to visit, but Werner had told him Adolf and Margot were on holiday in Crete. The men hugged each other and then Eberhard turned to introduce me.

To be continued

The photo of Minna’s brother and his comrades was taken before these men left for Norway. According to the insignia on their collars, all four men were part of a band group within the Wehrmacht. Richard was wearing the full dress uniform of the band, whereas his comrades were wearing their regular army uniforms.

Wildflowers, wilderness and wine

Fay publishes posts about her way of life on The Granite Belt of southern Queensland, Australia on http://fayhelwig.com

First published by StrictlyLiterary, Fay’s book Wildflowers, wilderness and wine is about a year in the life she has shared with Eberhard managing Das Helwig Haus as a bed and breakfast home on the Granite Belt of southern Queensland, Australia is now available on http://www.australia-book.com.au

Overseas readers may purchase this book or download a PDF  on http://store.lulu.com/strictlyliterary

CHAPTER FOUR concludes

I was astonished at the rapidity with which the window boxes along the main street of Wolferborn became a tumbling profusion of bright geraniums. That was, until the day I saw the arrival of the Blumenwagen and watched it park in the street beside the Metzgerei. A moderate sized van, it served as a mobile nursery, which I was told regularly came through the villages of the region.

The owner of the Blumenwagen announced his arrival by ringing a bell to summon the women out of their homes. Like the mice of Hamlin they answered his call and hurriedly thronged around the van, squeaking with enthusiasm. The large spectacular potted plants were placed on the footpath; the sides of the van were raised and within the interior stood many smaller pots, each with their first flowers appearing; and tray upon tray of advanced vegetable and flower seedlings.

I watched with bemused astonishment as Minna speedily removed her kitchen apron, picked up her basket and coin purse and scurried excitedly to join the other women in their selection of replacement plants. In Germany, I realised, gardening had joined the throwaway society. Limp plants, suffering from too many indoor hours, were discarded with profligate haste. Within a day I saw fresh specimens, denoting the changing seasons, materialise between the glass and the white lace curtains along the street.

Returning with her selection, Minna donned her special gardening overall and cotton gloves, without which she never ventured to work in her potting shed.

Prior to our visit to Germany, Eberhard had frequently irritated me by comparing the virtues of his homeland, especially the work ethic and frugality of the German race with the easy-going attitude of Australians. Now, I enjoyed moments of mocking satisfaction, watching his growing dismay with the influence of increasing wealth.  Within days of our arrival, Eberhard became preoccupied with the wastage he encountered and began muttering about rich Germans.

“They don’t seem to hesitate,” I said.  “Every woman in the street bought cut flowers or potted plants. Is it a case of keeping up with the neighbours?”

“No, not really,”  Eberhard attempted a defence.  “Certainly, there is still some competition for every woman to get her vegetable garden planted by mid-May.  Every Hausfrau looks over each hedge as she walks past with her shopping basket.  She surveys the neat rows and considers how well or otherwise the garden is flourishing. No, it’s not competition, nor is it merely loyalty to someone offering the village a service. It’s more to do with affluence and gentility. They have all become so genteel. Have you noticed the way all the family drink bottled water?”

“Yes, is the town water unfit for drinking?”

“No, that’s not the issue. Wolferborn has a reticulated water supply and a perfect spring .  You’ve seen the running fountain in the centre of the town, near the school?”

“Yes, but there’s a sign on it saying Achtung! I assumed the water was unsafe for human consumption.”

Eberhard laughed. “The locals know the water hasn’t changed since I came here with Minna as boy. We all filled our buckets there. No, Werner says the villagers placed that sign about contaminated water to prevent Büdingen people coming out here to fill their water containers. It just seems that now they have the money to spend, they’re becoming lazy or effete.”

“I don’t understand.”

“They prefer to buy bottled mineral water for drinking, because it is the ‘in’ thing to do.”

“I must say I’m very disappointed by Minna’s cakes – the ones she serves with coffee each afternoon. I had anticipated the genuine article, not some plastic wrapped factory thing.”

“Yes, those fruit flans are nothing like the cakes of my youth.”

“A bought sponge base covered with peach slices from a tin, decorated with fake cream from a pressure-pack can! That’s not the wonderful home baked cakes you told me to expect.”

“Werner and Minna must go into Büdingen tomorrow to choose wall paper for the bedrooms of the new house. We will go too. I want to show you the old city, where the Duke lives. I’m sure we will find a decent coffee house there where you can try some real tortes.”

Marktplatz-Panoramio photo by Josef Baumgartner

The old, medieval town of Büdingen is located about 45km northeast of Frankfurt, at the borderline of the Vogelsberg and Wetterau counties. It is one of the most attractive smaller communities in the state of Hessen and escaped bombing and shelling damage during the war years. Wherever Eberhard and I walked through the older part of the city we saw tradesmen at work repairing the old homes and shop fronts to continue the preservation of many marvelous buildings dating from the 15^th and 16^th centuries.

The ancient, walled center of Büdingen is 700 years old as is the castle dominating the town. This structure is owned by the Duke of Ysenburg and Büdingen and was begun as moated castle within a swamp. Over the course of centuries it became protected by the construction of strong walls and towers, resulting in a  medieval palace and residence for the family of the Duke of Ysenburg and Büdingen. Two events were important for the development of this city. The Emperor, Ludwig of Bavaria, granted the Duke market rights in 1330. In 1353 the Duke issued all citizens with a liberty letter. They became free from all taxes, encumbrances and compulsory labour. In return the citizens had to protect the walls and gates.

We entered the old portion of the city through the Jerusalem Tor, one of three original gates. It is recognised as the town’s main landmark.

südliches Tor - Panoramio photo by P.E.Dangelmaier

“Why is this called the Jerusalem Gate?” I asked.

“Büdingen was on the route taken by many of the Crusaders. It is said that the gate gained that name after the Crusaders rode through it on the way to Jerusalem.”

As promised, Eberhard found a cafe where we could have coffee and a slice of torte, but once more we were disappointed.

“This cake hasn’t been made on the premises,” Eberhard complained. “The waitress says they are supplied by a factory in Frankfurt. Let us find a chair in the Schlloss gardens while we wait for Werner and Minna to finish their shopping.”

Büdingen Kräutergarten, Stadtpark-Panoramio photo by Ha-Wo-We

As we entered the castle gardens I said, “I would like to hear more abut your youth.”

Eberhard chose to talk about Hans. “He was different to Werner and me. He joined the Hitler Youth movement when he was ten years old, in 1934. We two younger brothers tried to tag along to his meetings. We were always being shushed away and told we were too young, but we were allowed to attend the summer camps. ” Eberhard’s face glowed as he began to speak of summer camps. “We shouldered our rucksacks and walked to the arranged meeting place, and then travelled by train to the camp.” The enthusiasm waned and Eberhard frowned for a moment. When he spoke again the pause was revealed as a painful recollection. “I still remember my mother’s struggle to afford the cost of purchasing my rucksack.”

Lotte Helwig

Several times I have heard him say that his greatest desire as a young boy was to give his mother pleasure. He would have hated causing her concern.

“We rolled our blanket and strapped it across the top and down the sides of the rucksack and it had to look perfect. We pitched our own tents, put in the straw to lie upon, and kept it neat and tidy. Hans was luckier than I was. He went up to the North Sea for a camp one year, but my camps were always in the Rhon and it always rained with canvas dripping at any touch.”

“Even though I looked forward to the camps, I was always glad to get back home each year. The instructors were so rough and tough!”

“In what way?

“We were up early to eat our breakfast, clean our teeth and have a cold wash in a stream before listening to the instructions, which could go on at length. This indoctrination was flattering, telling us we were in training for life as upstanding citizens. We did a lot of cross country marching, while in the evening there was music and singing.”

I imagined the brothers at their separate camps happily sitting around bonfires, their cheeks rosy from the glow of the flames, their souls alight with glorious passion.

“There were regular sporting competitions – running races, jumping, javelin throwing and ball games. Always we were competing against other teams and striving to be the best. These pursuits emphasized a healthy lifestyle and the setting of goals. The instructions were often complex and the competitions difficult with no short cuts to success. We were disciplined to complete all tasks, no matter how rigorous. And then at the end of the day, we had to prepare our own food.”

Han's North Sea Island Camp

“When did you become a member of the Hitler Youth movement?

“Not until we moved to Fulda to live. I was almost twelve by then, and obliged to enlist through the school program. I found the regimented school network of the city totally different to the easy going village attitude.

“My wandering and working at odd jobs became restricted by the necessity every Saturday to put on my uniform and turn up at a parade ground in the middle of the city. We boys lined up in our groups and marched off to different locations to undertake map reading, compass reading and various other assignments. I rapidly acquired these skills and as a result I was ordered to attend a special group for leadership aspirants.

“No doubt you were flattered to be singled out.”

“That’s where you’re wrong!”

His adamant rebuttal surprised me.

“I didn’t fancy being a leader in the movement! Two weeks after my transfer to the new company, I returned to my former group. Our instructor demanded an explanation. I said I enjoyed that group better than the Leadership Company and was allowed to remain in the lower ranks. Hans was different. He concentrated his efforts on gaining promotions and achieved rapid advancement and became an important young leader in Fulda. Even when our mother apprenticed him to a book seller, it was a job that left him ample time for his Hitler Youth work.”

Eberhard sighed, “We were always different. There was an air of loftiness about my brother. He never made an effort to please anyone. He would sooner sit in the living room with a book.”

“He sounds like a lazy boy,” I said.

Eberhard was quick to correct me. “No, you’re being too hard on him. He was an idealist and a dreamer. It fell to me to help our mother in the household. Hans was attracted by everything the Third Reich represented.”

“What made you decide to become a school teacher?”

“My Grade Eight teacher at the Fulda primary school recommended me as a teacher candidate.  I then received an official invitation to attend a four week special course during my school holidays, designed to ensure that I was suitable as a future teacher within the State Education Department.”

Eberhard, second row, behind the teacher's left shoulder

Eberhard had been flattered by his selection as a deserving applicant. “Together with about forty boys I spent four weeks in a hostel run by the Hitler Youth, undergoing a tremendous barrage of aptitude tests and examinations. It was an interesting period where I made some new friends.

Wildflowers, wilderness and wine

Fay has published a series of posts about the wildflowers on The Granite Belt of southern Queensland, Australia on http://fayhelwig.com

First published by StrictlyLiterary, Fay’s book Wildflowers, wilderness and wine is about a year in the life she has shared with Eberhard managing Das Helwig Haus as a bed and breakfast home on the Granite Belt of southern Queensland, Australia is now available on http://www.australia-book.com.au

CHAPTER FOUR begins

The April showers, which we had encountered during our first week in Wolferborn gave way to sunny days. Golden dandelions appearing in the green meadows repeated the brightness of the spring sunlight.

“Lowenzahn – lion’s tooth, is the name for these,” Eberhard said, plucking an early seed head, “but commonly they are called Pustenblumen. Pusten means to blow and blumen is a bloom.” He puffed a deep breath slowly at the seeds, forcing the fluff to drift on the breeze.

With the change of weather, Werner’s disposition brightened. He announced at breakfast on Sunday morning that it was time for some sightseeing. That day he would drive us up to the Rhon. Minna was delighted! She would not have to prepare the hot mid-day meal.

“Die Sonne scheint schon so schon!” The sun shining on the countryside, golden with dandelions is beautiful, Minna said,  turning in her seat.

Dandelions near Wolferborn

Nourished by moisture from the melting snows the dandelions were the first plants to burst into vigorous growth and gild the countryside. Arrayed like ballerinas in fluffy tutus they danced in thick profusion reflecting the warmth of the morning sun. Sitting in the front of the Sigma beside her husband, Minna frequently drew my attention to the fresh green of willow trees, parent geese guarding foraging goslings, or a particularly colourful bed of tulips, determined that I would miss nothing. The road climbed into the hills and past the village of Birstein.

“Werner is planning to show you the Bruderhof house,” Eberhard said. “The winters are very cold up here in the mountains, but I remember, we did enjoy tobogganing. One year, Hans and I lost our toboggan while coming down the hill behind the house and couldn’t find it again in the powder snow. Three months later, in the spring thaw, we discovered it had fallen into a hole dug for tree planting.”

“How deep does the snow get here?”

“Anything from one metre to three metres, and in the drifts there might be five or six metres of snow. The wind was always howling and the snow was always falling. Winter lasts a long time here. I always longed for Easter to arrive. Easter brought hope of winter being finished.” Eberhard leaned forward and spoke to Werner, asking if he remembered the Easter Sunday mornings?

“Ja,” Werner recalled the whole community scrambling up the hill to look for hidden hard-boiled eggs decorated with little bunnies and chickens.

Eberhard gave a disgusted snort. “And we found the same little fluffy things in our Easter basket again the next year, a little the worse for wear, but still there.”

“Do you remember your Christmases?” I asked.

“Christmas was an exciting time. Saint Nicolaus came on the fifth of December to check up on us. If we had been good, we might be handed one of the apples we had helped harvest in the autumn, as a present. On Christmas Day the dining room was cleared of furniture. We used to sit from end to end and play with our toys – mostly wind up motor cars.”

Eberhard reminded Werner of the food parcel the boys received from their Grandmother. “We were allowed to open it, but then it was taken away by one of the women. We were lucky to get half an orange out of a dozen. Our treats were shared with everyone.”

Uwe. Hans, Eberhard and Werner when with the Bruderhof in the Rhon.

Werner slowed the car to turn through the stone entrance to the farm and parked on the cobblestones fronting the house. We stood looking at the old home with dismay. A half-stone house, like so many in the district, the ground floor was a vague gray-white colour indicating that it had once been plastered and painted white. A wide doorway opened into this lower part of the house, revealing an interior hall. Scattered in front of this door were tawdry, plastic pots holding wilting oleanders. Arising from ground level at both sides of the front wall a double stairway met to form a landing above the central door. I guessed there was a similar door on this upper level, but I was prevented from confirming this by a blank sheet of plywood, tacked across the front of the landing to block the wind.

Rhon Bruderhof house

“Someone’s there.” I nudged Eberhard, and pointed to one of the casement windows above the stairs. A gray haired woman peered out.

Werner called a greeting. The woman appeared willing to talk, although she never moved down to the ground, nor invited us to enter. For some time Werner and Eberhard persevered with this necessarily loud conversation, obtaining permission to walk around the farm.

Eberhard and Werner in front of the Rhon Bruderhof house.

“She’s not impressed with our Bruderhof connection. She blames the organisation for her present poverty. After the war the English branch of the Bruderhof demanded compensation from her husband, and they were obliged to borrow twenty thousand Deutschmarks to pay out the debt. This hilly country is not the best farm land, and the debt has kept them poor ever since.”

“But why were they obliged to pay compensation?”

“The same thing happened all over Germany. When Hitler came to power the Third Reich intimidated not only the Jews, but also other religious groups such as the Bruderhof. They were forced off this land and the State then sold the property to this family.”

“So, they had to pay twice for the farm?”

“Yes, pay or get out! When I worked in Mannheim in 1949, I lived with the widow of a former German businessman who had bought a Jewish business – a small factory that produced saw blades. After the war the original owner reclaimed the factory. The woman’s husband was then so destitute that he committed suicide.”

Werner announced that he and Minna would wait for us in the car. He would get breathless climbing the hill and Minna’s legs would become painful, he explained.

Eberhard took my arm and guided me to a rough path leading to the hill behind the old house. “I remember this as an almost bare hill with loose stones. The scrubby little bushes have grown into trees.” He picked up a small blue-metal stone and tossed it from hand to hand. “Some stones here were the size of cobblestones and we used them build little cubbies. We would retreat into these shelters to eat our carrots or fruit.”

Eberhard pointed downhill past the road where we had entered the farm. “See that field?”

“Yes.” I saw a grassy meadow, and beyond that in the hollow, a winding row of trees marking the position of the creek. Rising behind this lowest point was another wooded hill about the height of the one on which we were standing. I could see no further than seven hundred metres in any direction for this was a region of low hills.

“The men always ploughed that acre with a pair of cold-blooded Belgium horses. One fellow offered me a ride. He sat me on a big mare, but I was only a small child with short legs and I couldn’t keep my balance. I fell in between the two. Thank heavens the horses immediately stopped, and the plough stopped before it hit me, because I didn’t feel too well!” Eberhard chuckled. “They were nice gentle horses.”

Bruderhof field

“While you were here, did anyone ever check on your welfare?”

“Our grandmother visited us twice a year. A man came once. He took me for a ride on a motorcycle. I nearly died of fright. That fellow set out to deliberately frighten me! He thought scaring a little boy was a great lark. I was terrified – jolting up and down on a pillion seat behind him. I hung on for dear life. He must have been one of my mother’s brothers.”

“You don’t sound too sure.”

“I know very little about my mother’s family, nor do I know how she met my father. Mother was well educated, but I believe she came from a very poor family. My father was the son of a successful merchant. My grandfather had a plumbing wholesale business in central Mannheim, and various other property investments.”

“Mannheim was heavily bombed during the war, wasn’t it?”

“Yes the bombing destroyed the family home. He owned a block of apartments in the middle of the city, opposite the Rathaus. It had three storeys of living area, divided into six apartments. My grandparents occupied one of these and rented the others.”

“Why didn’t your grandfather visit you?”

“He was always a source of unseen authority, which we were told by Grandmother that we must respect. He disapproved of his son marrying our mother, because she already had a child, Uwe. Also, he was totally disgusted with our father. His son, Erwin Helwig, received his inheritance while he was a young man. He lived the high life of society, with big cars and gambling at Baden Baden. Grandfather cut him off from his presence.”

“Let’s go back to the car,” I said. “We had better not keep Werner waiting too long. Was your father just a playboy, or did he have a job?”

“Our father was a professional businessman – a sales representative with the Heidelberg Cement Company. This position gave him the chance to travel all over Germany.”

I wondered if there had been some imminent scandal that had encouraged Eberhard’s grandmother to give Erwin Helwig and Lotte the fares to Canada to begin a new life?

To be continued

Wildflowers, wilderness and wine

Fay was recognised by the Southern Downs and Granite Belt Tourist Association for the way she promotes this tourism region outside the region when presented with the Queensland Southern Downs Tourist Ambassador Award.  No better example is her book Wildflowers, wilderness and wine in which Fay introduces her readers to the wonders of the Granite Belt. See http://www.australia-book.com.au

Always a ‘Greenie’ Fay demonstrates by example in http://fayhelwig.com how others can join with her in leaving a small carbon footprint.