Posts Tagged ‘Minna’

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TWO BROTHERS

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

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

At Christmas they exchanged these photographs.

Werner Helwig at Wolferborn

Eberhard Helwig with a granddaughter at Glen Aplin

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

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

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

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

Enjoy!

Wildflowers, wilderness and wine

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN concludes

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

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

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

Foxgloves near Wolferborn

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

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

“What were your quarters like?”

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

“Did you go ashore?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

The cool water was refreshing on our feet.

Preparing to cross the stream

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did time ever drag for you?”

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

Eberhard refilled our glasses.

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

“What was your first impression of Australia?”

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

Flotta Lauro Liner Surriento www.fremantleports.com.au

“Did you have any time for sightseeing?”

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

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

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

“And Sydney - was that disappointing too?”

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

“How did you celebrate New Year?”

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

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

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

“When had the doctor left Germany?”

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

“Did you stay in touch with them?”

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

Redland Bay Flying Boat Base

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

Sunderland flying boat

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

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

“Quite a culture shock.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The End

Wildflowers, wilderness and wine

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

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

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

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN begins.

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

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

“Where is Ludwigshafen?”

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

“How stringent were the immigration requirements?”

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

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

Lilac blossom

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

“Were you excited?”

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

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

Eberhard-Mannheim

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

“Did she believe you?”

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

“She knew you better than you knew yourself.”

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

Hedge roses

“When did you leave for Australia?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“How long were you kept waiting?”

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

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

Ripening harvest

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

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

“I guess there were some tearful farewells.”

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

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

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

“A symbolic toast!”

“Ach Fay, you are a romantic.”

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

“Where’s Nancy?”

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

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

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

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

“Clearly, not a good impression.”

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

“Why were they fobbing you off?”

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

“Why?”

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

“And did you?”

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

“He was laying a guilt trip on you!”

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

“What became of the others?”

“They were flown out months later.”

“Did you have any time in Paris?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Your own Bon voyage party.”

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

Werner Helwig

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

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

To be continued

Wildflowers, wilderness and wine

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER 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.”

————————————————————————————————————————————————-

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 NINE begins.

Werner and Minna suggested we accompany them to the birthday party of a neighbour, Jurgen, who would be forty-five years of age on Saturday afternoon. Jurgen and his wife, Heidi, lived in the house beside Heidi’s parents, whose house was situated on the corner of the street, diagonally across from Werner and Minna’s back garden. Frequently when we set out on our walks, we had exchanged words with Heidi’s father Franz, as he tended flowering strawberry plants. He was a short, sturdy man with a shock of snowy white hair and a swarthy complexion.

On Saturday morning we waved a greeting to Franz and his wife, Gertie, who was planting dahlia corms, as we set off up the hillside.

“What’s the significance of this birthday party?” I asked.

“Every fifth year adult birthdays are celebrated here. It’s merely another nice German custom.”

Beyond the village the larks were spiralling high above the grass of meadows. I thought their singing the most melodious bird song I had ever heard. We had just crossed a small bridge over a trickling stream when Eberhard said, “Stand aside Fay, there’s a tractor coming.”

I stepped up the embankment on to the hillside above the gravel track.  Approaching us was a small red tractor, pulling a fence high frame on wheels. Within this mobile yard were six, black and white Friesian steers. Stepping briskly along, they kept pace with their enclosure. A woman balanced, prodding encouragement with a stick, her feet planted on the bottom rail at the rear.

“Where are they taking those steers?”

“Probably to a meadow. Nowadays the farmers seem to put their cattle out on the grass in the warmer weather, with an electric fence, rather than cut fodder for them.”

Looking south over Wolferborn

“The cattle are so quiet!”

“They are accustomed to people. Most of the year they are tethered in stalls and hand fed.”

“These grassy meadows are  beautiful with all the dandelions, but wouldn’t the farmers get more grass if they eliminated them?”

Eberhard looked at me in puzzlement. “Why should they? Dandelions have grown like this in the meadows for hundreds of years. Dandelions are deep rooted and like the other weeds they contribute nutrients to the soil.”

“But surely they’re robbing the ground of moisture and stunting the grass?”

“Nein. Germany has a moderate climate with enough rain throughout the year for the farmers to get several cuttings of hay.”

It had been so easy for me to glance over these meadows and compare them with the great rolling grasslands of Australia. Perhaps I was in the wrong for assuming German farmers were backward for living in the style of past centuries.

“But the wheat crops look like they are heavily fertilised.” We had neared a  field of wheat. “This crop has certainly spooled out and there’s no sign of any stress. It should yield well.”

Wheat field Panoramio photo by Frank Behrenberg

Eberhard grimaced. “The financial incentive has distorted the price of Korn.”

“You mean, subsidies! If the German government didn’t subsidise the production of wheat the farmers wouldn’t over-produce and cause dumping on the world market.” I vented my anger.

Eberhard took my hand and kissed it, “But I still love you.”

He often responded in this way if I  argued with him. Why was it, I wondered, that he could argue vigorously with men, but always tried to change the subject if I became angered.

“Ach Fay, you must understand the historical reasons. German reliance on foreign food was demonstrated during the First World War when the British blockade and hostilities with Russia created acute shortages.”

“And again in the Second World War,” I acknowledged. “But there’s no shortage of grain now, so why keep stockpiling?”

“To protect the environment! The government provides incentives for viable farmers and is helping them take over the fields of less efficient families. All the plots of land that Minna owns were leased out years ago. The government also encourages the establishment of light industry in the villages to provide work for these people.”

“There’s no indication here of any amalgamation. Wouldn’t it be more economic to clear some of these hedges and increase the size of the fields?’

“Stop thinking big is beautiful!” Eberhard shook his head in disgust. “Think for a moment. What would that do to this countryside? Look around you. What do you see?”

We were nearing the verge of the forest.  Standing, looking back over the valley, I counted aloud, “Three villages, winding roads, bushy copses, green meadows, some cultivated land, wild flowers and pine plantations.”

“Germany today is a cultivated landscape in which pastures, fields and carefully managed forests alternate. The German people want their land to remain like this. Tourists come from all over the world to see the quaint villages and picturesque countryside. Why should these people disrupt a way of life that is so aesthetically pleasing to merely become more efficient?”

“You’ve made your point. There’s obvious merit in protecting the farming environment.”

“The Green movement will force a profound effect on farming practices in the next decade. Greenies may legislate to stop the farmers spreading mist – manure across the meadows every spring.”

“The stink is the only thing that detracts from the beauty of Germany in the spring,” I agreed.

“That smell is all the methane gas being released into the atmosphere. One of the big chemical companies, Bayer, is advertising their herbicides with the suggestion that farmers still leave the wildflowers on the headlands of their fields. They are trying to promote a green image.”

“What wildflowers?”

“Die Mohn and the Kornblume which grow amongst the grain crops and proliferate on fallow land.”

Cornflowers in Panoramia photo by koller

“The red poppies and blue cornflowers?”

“Yes. When we were boys we would gather the white Margaritten daisies by the armful to give our mother on Mother’s Day.”

“I’ve seen the white anemones and buttercups along the streams.”

“They are the earliest to appear. Soon Die Glockenblume – bluebells, and the forget-me-nots, that’s Vergissmeinnicht will appear amongst the grass or on fallow ground. The lupins – Lupine seem to like growing along roads where the ground has been disturbed. We have seen the foxgloves – the Fingerhut which have already appeared in cleared patches within the forests.”

Anemones by stream Panoramio photo by frie_d@

As we circled back towards Wolferborn, I asked, “Werner and Minna always go on holidays with Willi and Hilda don’t they?”

“Yes, Minna and Hilda grew up together.”

“Hilda often calls in to visit with Minna, and chides me for not speaking any German, but Willi can speak English.”

“Like me, he became a Prisoner of War. He was captured in 1943 by the Americans and spent a couple of years in Texas. He told me that the Americans treated him very well. He even became so friendly with one family that they still send each other Christmas greetings.”

“Where did the Americans capture him?”

“North Africa, in Tunisia to be exact. He was part of Rommel’s Afrika Corps.”

“That’s something I never understood. Why were the Germans fighting in the African deserts?”

“It was all Mussolini’s fault!”

“How come?”

“Mussolini’s army invaded Ethiopia in 1935 and the Italians had participated in the Spanish Civil War. Initially, when Hitler decided to go to war, Mussolini dithered.  He was a greedy bastard, waiting like a carrion crow for the pickings from German victories.”

“Clearly, you despised him.”

“The bastard caused the Russian debacle! When the fall of France was inevitable, Mussolini declared war on France too.” Eberhard’s tone of voice expressed his disgust with the Italian Duce. “In June 1940 almost half a million Italian troops attacked the French alpine front, yet a force of less than two hundred thousand French soldiers held them off. After the Germany army overcame French resistance, Hitler allowed Mussolini to occupy Corsica, Savoy and portion of Provence.”

“I ask a simple question and I get such an involved answer,” I laughed.

“One thing leads to another. So it was with Mussolini. With England imagining that German troops were about to cross the Channel, Mussolini decided it would be an opportune time to take over Britain’s North African possessions and invade Greece.”

“I suppose you are going to tell me that he bit off more than he could chew?”

“Yes. He immediately called for help from Germany, embroiling us in military excursions for which there was no provision and delaying the thrust into Russia. The British and the Australians routed the Italians from Egypt and Libya. So, in February 1941, Hitler sent Lieutenant-General Erwin Rommel to Tripoli. Rommel had acquitted himself splendidly in France and earned Hitler’s admiration. Again, he had initial success in Africa, mostly due to his ability to move fast and out-think the opposing forces. By April he had pushed them back to Egypt. Then Germany had trouble maintaining the supply lines and he gradually lost ground.”

General Erwin Rommel and Lieutenant Colonel Fritz Bayerlein in an open car speaking to motorized troops, North Africa, 1942

“What happened?”

“The Americans, under Paton, came into the fighting at Rommel’s rear, through Morocco and Algeria in November 1942, compelling the German forces to retreat to Sicily by May 1943.”

“What happened to Rommel?”

“He was posted to France to protect the Channel, but surely you know what happened to him?”

“No.”

“He had told Hitler in no uncertain terms what mistakes he was making and was accused of treachery. After the officer’s plot against Hitler, the Gestapo gave Rommel the choice of taking his own life, or going on trial for plotting to assassinate our great Fuhrer. He shot himself! Then, because he was a hero of the people, the bastards gave him a State funeral!”

“You sound very bitter.”

“I have reason to be. I can’t credit how naive and innocent we were, for we believed every defeat was a strategic retreat. It was only after the war that I learned the truth and about the way leaders like Rommel actually died.”  Eberhard’s face was flushed with anger. “Hitler sent so many of us to die needlessly. He ordered atrocities for which the ordinary German is still held responsible today. Even when the end was in sight and he was planning his own suicide, he commanded our forces to fight to the death.”

To be continued

Wildflowers, wilderness and wine

Eberhard and I moved to the Granite Belt of southern Queensland in November 1992 to establish Das Helwig Haus B&B and I was amused how many B&B owners said, “I could write a book about my experiences.”  It is a unique business and I found myself with many a tale to tell, so I wrote a book about our life here in a wine tourism district and called it Wildflowers, wilderness and wine.

Overseas readers may obtain the book on my publisher’s site StrictlyLiterary while Australian readers can order it from www.australia-book.com.au

If you enoy my writing check out my weekly posts on http://fayhelwig.com concerning what is happening at this time of the year on the Granite Belt.