Posts Tagged ‘Minna’

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 continues

Our circumstances were transformed from the ridiculous to the sublime when Adolf ushered us into his car. I settled into the comfort of the rear seat, while Eberhard chose to sit beside Adolf. As we passed through Rinderbügen and headed towards Wolferborn, I heard Adolf explaining that yes they had enjoyed an early spring on Crete and he captured some excellent photographs of ground orchids. He asked how much longer we would be staying in Wolferborn? He expressed an interest in taking us on a drive to the Spessart region, where he anticipated that several varieties of ground orchids could already be flowering. He would discuss an outing with Margot and phone through the details. Without the aggression I had observed in Werner’s driving, Adolf purred the Mercedes gently up the steep incline and turned left into Werner’s yard.

True to his word, Adolf phoned in the evening, just as we finished Abend Brot to say Margot had suggested we should take advantage of the sunny weather and undertake the outing the next day.

Werner and Minna both targeted Eberhard with sly comments, which I only partially understood. They referred to Margot as his girlfriend.

Later Eberhard explained, “Margot and I have been friends since we were children. She grew up here in Wolferborn, in the house next door to Minna’s family. During those two years when our family lived in Fulda, Minna was employed as a housemaid in our home. The Women’s League paid her to take care of our family.”

“Why was that?”

“Our mother sometimes travelled long distances and was away overnight. Minna rode her bike up to Fulda whenever she was required.”

“I knew she was older than you and Werner. Those photos she showed me of the harvest – she pointed you out too, but you were only a boy.”

“Yes, Minna is six years older than me, and seven years older than Werner. I used to love to come back here to work with Conrad, her father, during the summer holidays.”

“How come Werner married Minna?”

“He contacted tuberculosis in eastern Prussia and after the war was accommodated on a farm at Eschwege, north of Kassel. I found him there while I was at Ziegenhain and mentioned this to Minna’s family, with whom I had also resumed contact. Minna offered to care for him and I brought him to Wolferborn.”

“And then he married Minna?”

“Yes. There were so few young men returning that Minna was lucky to have a chance to marry.”

“She is a very plain woman.”

“With a big heart. All she ever knew was hard work, but with Richard dead she stood to inherit the farming land. Werner was an educated man and here in Wolferborn he became a big fish in a small pond.”

“The marriage was to their mutual advantage.”

“Yes. I attended their wedding. Margot is four years younger than me, and was then a lovely young woman, but her father was determined she should marry a man with prospects.”

“So, she met and married Adolf.”

“Yes, after a number of years. We’ve always kept in touch. Adolf is retired now and they’ve moved back from Frankfurt to live in the village. He’s a keen field naturalist and specializes in photographing the ground orchids of Mitteleuropa.”

“What an interesting hobby.”

In observing Adolf, I saw a tall man with a stout waistline and thinning, grey hair. He would have been a handsome youth; tall, blond and blue eyed. I guessed he was about three years younger than Eberhard, so missed service during the war years.

Margot was a woman of medium height, sturdy of build, with straight brown hair, cut short and showing only a few grey streaks. She had a pleasant welcoming manner.

Adolf drove us up past the Leisenwald and down the winding range road to Wachterbach. He confirmed that he was taking us to the Spessart region in search of early spring orchids. I was delighted to discover that Adolf could speak some English. He went into considerable detail when explaining to me the purpose of his quest. Some of the orchids, he said, appeared almost as soon as the snow melted others not until the end of summer. I asked if he was searching for anything in particular? He replied that on this day he was sure we would find some good specimens of the Helm Knabenkraut – Orchis militaris, which looks like a small boy in an army helmet, hence the name. The upper five petals are shaped like a helmet. These orchids are pale cerise on the outside and almost violet inside. His voice changed to express concern, as he said that they have disappeared from the north west of Europe and were in danger of extinction.

As we rounded a hill, we left the canopy of the forest and Wachtersbach appeared before us in the valley. Here we were obliged to wait while a train passed on the main Frankfurt-Fulda line. Once through the town and out into the countryside again, I noticed that the country was hillier than around Wolferborn and there weren’t many cultivated fields. These forests seem darker too – they weren’t orderly pine plantations, but the villages were just as attractive.

Wishing to please my hosts, I said, “Here everything is so beautiful – there’s nothing harsh or jarring to the eye. Everything is rounded and mellow. The houses have stability and a common style of architecture, almost as though they were produced from the same plaster mould. There’s a story book, almost fairytale atmosphere about this scenery.”

Adolf smiled. “That’s true. Do you know the Grimm fairytales?

“Yes.”

“Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm were born in Hanau – that’s further down the line towards Frankfurt. Interesting family. Their Grandfather was a pastor in the church in Steinau. When the brothers were still young their father accepted an appointment as Amtmann of Steinau.”

“What’s an Amtmann?”

“It was a role similar to a magistrate.”

I tried to imagine the way the country would have appeared more than two hundred years ago. There wouldn’t have been the sealed roads, but many of the village houses had remained unchanged other than for a coat of modern paint. There were still some flowering trees in various shades of white and pink. I guessed they must be apple trees, for the cherry trees at Wolferborn had already dropped their petals.  We crossed a stone bridge and I caught glimpses of rippling sweeps of shallow water. I pictured the young Grimm boys chasing butterflies or observing the goose girl guarding her flock.

“Jacob and Wilhelm were lucky to live in such a picturesque district.”

“Their years here ended abruptly. Their father died when the boys were only twelve and thirteen years of age. A couple of years later they moved to Kassel to live with their mother’s sister.”

Adolf turned off the main road and ventured onto a more torturous road through the hills. Parking the Mercedes on a grass verge, Adolf pointed to a green knoll, picked up his camera and locked the car. He directed us to follow him across a meadow towards the grassy slope and then led us around the hill to the sunnier southern aspect.

“Margot says Adolf comes here every year,” Eberhard said.

“Doesn’t she speak any English?”

“No. She’s not university educated like Adolf. She was always a Hausfrau, happy to take care of their two daughters.”

Adolf became excited, gesturing towards rather insignificant pink flowers almost hidden amongst the dandelions. Quickly he positioned himself, lying on the slope, his left elbow resting on the ground to steady his hand as he adjusted the telescopic lens.

Ground orchids

This situation, high on the hill, afforded me a tremendous view of the silent countryside. Then it struck me as to why I always found the views so sleepy. It was the silence. There wasn’t the constant twitter, chirp or birdsong of the Australian bush. Seldom did we see birds and apart from the cuckoo or the larks that sang over the meadows, we rarely heard birds. Eberhard had mentioned that Germany didn’t have many birds that walked across the ground and we surmised this was because the ground was covered in snow several months each year.

Adolf's car below

Whichever way I turned the views were remarkable for the numerous shades of green displayed by the lush meadows, large leafy trees, thick hedgerows and heavily wooded hills. Only the sky lacked colour.  From horizon to horizon no blue could be seen. A dull haze blotted out the sun providing a soft light without sharply defined shadows, excellent for photography.

Once Adolf was satisfied with his photography of the Helm Knabenkraut, he announced he would drive us to a beech forest between Schluchtern and Steinau.

Eberhard & Fay Germany 1990

This forest proved to be much drier than the forests we have tramped near Wolferborn and the dried leaves on the trails appeared as though they hadn’t been trampled in recent weeks. Elderberry bushes with their umbrella shaped dark green florets overhung the path in several places. Soon the florets would become a large circle of tiny white flowers, which in turn would be followed by purple berries.

Adolf left us momentarily to climb the embankment on the right hand side of the trail to investigate an area of beech trees. He shook his head to convey disappointment and said, “I was looking for an orchid called Weisses Waldvoglein – the white woodsbird. The Latin name is Cephalanthera damasonium.”

“How would I recognise it?”

“The flowers are carried on a spiral around the stem, which may grow up to sixty centimetres high. The leaves are ten centimetres long, oval shaped with sharp points. The flower is very loose and usually there are only three to six of the little orchids to a stem, but a good specimen may carry ten.”

“That would really be worth finding,” I approved his enthusiasm.

We reached the edge of the forest where the trail split left and right abruptly at a fence. Looking down into a cutting below the fence I saw a disused railway line.

“Trains once brought Russian emperors from St. Petersburg along this line and down to Baden Baden,” Adolf informed me. “Now the main line is west of here.”

We retraced our steps to the car. I listened to the others conversing in Deutsch and understood that they had decided we would drive in to Schluchtern to find a hotel where we could enjoy lunch.

It was a cosy dining room, bright with geraniums flowering in boxes suspended below the casement windows. The room was clean and brightly lit. We settled into an Eckbank – a corner arrangement with high backed wooden seats on either side of a bare board table.

Adolf ordered beer for Eberhard and himself and Apfelwein for Margot and me. The meals were hearty. Margot tut-tutted when Adolf ordered a pig’s knuckle with Sauerkraut, warning him against eating too much fat because of his heart. He replied that it was only at times like this that he got the opportunity to indulge because she wouldn’t serve him such food at home. I ordered Huhn mit suesser Fuelle – roast chicken with sweet stuffing.

Not long after we commenced the return drive, we encountered a shepherd minding a flock of sheep grazing on a hillside sward. It was a sizeable mob that had recently been shorn. The wethers all had their heads down, nipping off the grass. These were the first sheep I had seen since our arrival and it took me some time to realise what was unexpectedly different about this scene. The sheep were faced every which way. In Australia, we always know which end of the paddock to look for your sheep, as they will always feed into the wind. This was something else I had noticed about Germany – the weather is much calmer, without the strong winds to which I was accustomed.

A flock of German sheep

Adolf indicated that he wished to drive directly back to Wolferborn as Margot had prepared some homemade ice-cream as a special treat, and their youngest daughter, Ute, was planning a visit that afternoon.

Wildflowers, wilderness and wine

To be continued

Fay’s book Wildflowers, wilderness and wine may be ordered on http://www.australia-book.com.au or from StrictlyLiterary the publishers.

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

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 SIX begins

Creatures of habit, Werner and Minna always traveled to the Tyrol with the same group of friends the first week in May. Their absence proved convenient, for we now had the use of their car and Eberhard wanted to drive me down to Idstein to show me the Teachers Training College.  During their absence we undertook on their behalf various small jobs. The day before our visit to Idstein, Eberhard announced we must water the flowers growing on the family graves in the cemetery behind the Wolferborn church.

Eberhard unlatched the large iron gate and swung it wide to allow us entry. This cemetery was like none I had seen at home in Australia. Every headstone was a square or rounded slab of granite, neatly lettered in white or gold. The Protestant influence was apparent in the lack of ornamentation. The earth above each grave formed a garden bed, only the sides of which were boxed with a supporting concrete edging.  Some gardens were planted with massed pansies, primula, and spring-flowering bulbs like tulips. Other graves were freshly replanted with seedlings of summer annuals – red salvia, geraniums and bedding begonias.

Wolferborn graves

“It’s like a garden competition!” I declared. “Every family must constantly tend these graves to create this effect.”

“They do,” Eberhard agreed. “A member of the family will come here at least twice a week, in the evenings or the early mornings, to water their plants.”

“The headstones all look like they’ve come from the same stonemason.”

“The plot is used for another body after thirty years. That’s why there aren’t any old headstones or slabs covering the ground. Families live in the same village for generations – there’s always a relative to tend the graves.”

Three watering cans were hooked on a rail beside a tap. Eberhard took one of these, filled it with water and sprinkled the small aster seedlings that Minna had already planted on the graves of her parents.

Eberhard replaced the watering can and began to walk back towards the gates. I tugged him aside towards a wall. “What’s this?” I asked, pointing to a list of names. Almost as I ask the question, I recognised the inscriptions.  “It’s a war memorial.”

Wolferborn Remembrance wall - Panoramio photo by W.Daniel

“Not a memorial to war,” Eberhard was pedantic. “This is a wall of remembrance.”

Chastened by his correction, I stood quietly to read the names. These were the young men of Wolferborn who had gone off to fight for Germany in two world wars.

“See these three names,” Eberhard pointed to the end of a list, “These fellows died up there on the far hill, in the Leisenwald. We’ll take a walk through that forest this morning.”

Eberhard thoroughly enjoyed leading me through the forests which crown most of the hills overlooking Wolferborn, but he did not like walking through villages, always choosing to follow paths along gentle streams, or move up on to farm land to bypass hamlets. He had explained that foreign tourists were never seen in this region of Germany and we would only draw attention to ourselves by walking through the centre of villages. He did not like being gawked at by villagers.

“We’ll walk up this road past the church to the top of the hill and then take a track through the forest.”

“Where does this road lead to?”

“Through the Leisenwald and on to the town of Wachtersbach.

Leisenwald

“A retreating SS Division tried to hide out in this forest at the end of the war.”

“How many men to a Division?”

“About six thousand. One thing though, it’s an ill wind that doesn’t blow some good. Minna said that all the farmers from the surrounding villages came up to the Leisenwald in the following days and salvaged the tyres.”

“Tyres?”

“The SS were motorised units. Only us soldiers in the infantry walked!  The farmers soon replaced all the iron-rimmed wheels on their old carts with rubber tyres.”

“It must have been dreadful in those final days, when Germany was being overrun from all sides, yet Hitler refused to surrender.”

“It was!” Eberhard halted our steps near a signpost. We paused for a final look down into the hollow where the red roofed houses appeared caught in a silent time warp. Surely, I thought, fifty years ago there would have been more activity with men tilling the fields behind horse drawn ploughs, broadcasting seed, or scything hay. Today the country slumbered while men and women worked in the nearby cities like Büdingen.

“We’ll take this track into the forest.” Eberhard indicated a path turning to the left. “In the Ruhr, the Americans had our forces under Field-Marshall Walther Model surrounded by April 6. He committed suicide – a choice taken by many of our officers. The Americans captured over four hundred thousand men in that one pocket.”

“Where were you at that time?”

“Bouncing around on the back of an American truck, and hanging on for dear life!”

“So you were a prisoner too by then?”

“Yes. I was wounded on March 31, and taken by ambulance to a hospital somewhere near Bad Homburg. After registering, I was asked to lie in a corridor with scores of other wounded soldiers. It was utter bedlam because the hospital was terribly overcrowded. Seriously wounded men were being taken to the operating theatre all through the night.”

“It must have been hell for you!”

“I was in a lot of pain by then, but my wounds weren’t critical, so I just had to lie there and wait my turn. It was very noisy with staff and doctors talking to each other in agitated voices and wounded men crying out for attention.”

Except on film, I have never seen the sight of huddled bodies with brown bloodstains on green serge uniforms, but I imagined fresh red blotches seeping through bandages, faces contorted with pain and the moaning despair of dying soldiers. A tingle of horror ran up my spine.

“After midnight I was asked to stand up. I was placed on a stretcher and taken to the operating theatre, where the field dressing was removed. There were several severe lacerations where the shrapnel had passed right through the fleshy part of my arm and a third where the shrapnel shattered my elbow. The doctors tried to remove as many metal splinters as they could find amongst the torn flesh. Then my arm was bandaged and I was taken to a hospital ward. I was placed on a bed, still in my uniform.”

“Could you sleep?”

“I must have, some of the time. By then all the hospitals were short of supplies. There was no morphine. My memory of the next few days is confused.”

“Well tell me what you do recall.”

“Giving an office Heini a dressing down!”

“A Heini?”

“Ach Fay, that’s just a term we used for desk bound soldiers. That idiot wanted to pin a bronze medal on my chest for getting myself wounded – shedding blood for the Fatherland.”

“Why did you object?”

“I was disgusted that we had so little equipment to engage the American army. I just took my anger out on him. I told him where he could shove his damn medal!” Eberhard sighed. “Each day I listened to the radio for military reports. I remember thinking it ridiculous that that we were still subjected to Dr. Goebbels’s speeches.”

“Even in the last month of the war, the Nazis were still broadcasting propaganda?”

“Yes.  They were asking us to believe that we could throw the Russians out in the East and make an honourable peace with the West. Until May 8, I didn’t think we could be defeated. Such was my faith in the German fighting spirit.” Eberhard shrugged his shoulders. “My main interest was the daily Sondermeldung – military reports. I was listening for news of my battalion, which had dug in at Hausen Arnsbach and defied the Americans. I made notes in a diary, the page of which I still have today, until Tuesday, April 3.”

Hausen Arnsbach by es-atas

“April 3. That’s my birthday,” I exclaimed. “You were eighteen and I was just five years old. What a coincidence.”

“You probably enjoyed your birthday, but that day I began two weeks of torture. A group of armed American soldiers entered our ward and we were ordered by a German speaking, American officer to stand up, if we were capable of standing. I stood at the side of my bed, feeling very weak. He requested my name, rank and unit. Then I was ordered downstairs. The American army was taking us into custody.” Eberhard sighed. “With all the other walking wounded, I staggered into the yard, where we stood around for hours. Eventually, they ordered us to climb on the back of a truck. Again we waited a long time, packed as tight as sardines, standing side by side.

“I requested permission to stand near the rear of the truck, because my injured arm was getting squashed. Late that afternoon the convoy, comprising six trucks, roared off towards the west. We were driven until nightfall, in the maddest driving manner, to somewhere north of Bad Schwalbach. We were ordered off the trucks in the middle of a potato field. During the night thousands of German soldiers were unloaded onto that open field. We attempted to make ourselves comfortable, standing, sitting or lying on the hard ground throughout the night.”

Feld und Wald - Panoramio photo by sigehelmon

“That was rough treatment.”

“They didn’t care if we lived or died. They never gave us food. For two weeks we were forced onto trucks, driven endlessly around the country and jumped off again each night. We got weaker and slower, so the bastards used their rifle buts. The American army was overwhelmed. They had no plan for coping with such a tremendous volume of enemy soldiers. The drivers and guards didn’t know what to do with us, except load us up each morning and move us out.”

I was reminded of the many wagon trains I had seen on American movies and imagined some sergeant fulfilling this dream role of wagon master, assembling the convoy of trucks and sending them out onto the metaphorical prairie.

“It must have been terrible,” I agreed.

“Some guards enjoyed the brutality. They were just ignorant bastards, with as many as a dozen stolen watches on their arms – good Swiss watches they had taken from our soldiers. They were uneducated, abusive hill-billies.”

“And they never fed you for two weeks? That’s unbelievable!”

“It’s true. The only nourishment most of us had was grass we pulled and ate at night, although I remember in one field that I dug up some very old, frosted potatoes, left over from the year before. We had no fires either against the chill, so I ate them raw.”

I recalled the miserable weather we experienced our first days in Wolferborn and tried to imagine what it must have been like for all those disheartened prisoners suffering daily beatings, while experiencing cold, hunger and pain.

“How did it all end?”

“They drove us up and down the Taunus and Westerwald until late one evening, when we were delivered to a prison camp. It was a Stalag Luft, formerly a prison for the Allied air force men, who had been shot down over Germany. Stalag Luft is an abbreviation of Stammlager Luftwaffe. The Stalag Luft camps were administered by the Luftwaffe, and were permanent camps.”

“And did they finally feed you?”

“Yes. All officers were asked to step forward, and we received American K rations. I got a small tin of spaghetti and another of beans. The ranks only got one tin each. The Americans were attempting to drive a wedge between the starving German servicemen and their officers with this preferential treatment. They herded us into wooden barracks where I slept under a roof for the first time since becoming a prisoner of war. Even so, we were still obliged to sleep on the floor without any bedding.”

“And what about your wounds – did anyone look at your arm?”

“The commander announced that anybody wanting to see a doctor must be at the main gate by eleven o’clock the next morning.

To be continued.

Wildflowers, wilderness and wine

Fay is publishing a series of posts about the trees growing on The Granite Belt of southern Queensland, Australia on http://fayhelwig.com

Fay has titled these posts Good Trees-Bad Trees and discusses their usefulness for wood, shade and other purposes.

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 FIVE begins

“Fay, would you like a road map?” Eberhard offered.  “It will give you a sense of direction.”

“Thanks.”

It was Sunday morning three weeks after we had arrived in Germany and Werner was driving us north through the state of Hessen.

Lauterbach map

Most days, after breakfast during these past weeks, Eberhard had assisted Werner with minor carpentry jobs or wall papering the rooms of the new house until they joined Minna and me for lunch. On such days I would assist Minna with the shopping and then, feeling useless because there was no way I could assist her, I would write letters or pick up a piece of needlework while she cooked our lunch. During the afternoons Eberhard and I would enjoy a fresh air walk while following the various wanderwegs across the countryside.

Every Friday morning Rosel and Minna would consult to decide what breakfast foods they should purchase and prepare for the tradesmen who would arrive on Saturday morning. These were all tradesmen from Wolferborn who worked five days of the week on major contracts, but with their weekends free these men were prepared to work a few extra hours for cash in the hand on Saturdays. It was such men who were building the new Helwig house on the foundations of the old barn. Not only were these men paid cash for their services, but on arrival they would gather in Rosel’s kitchen for a breakfast of cold meats, hot sausages, hot potatoes and sauerkraut, bread rolls, jelly, coffee and beer. A veritable feast was spread before these men and it was a matter of great concern to Minna and Rosel that the workers would be pleased with their offering.

Again, when they finished work for the day Richard would provide a carton of beer for the workers.

Each Sunday morning, much to Minna’s delight, Werner would propose driving us on an outing, which meant we would have lunch in a distant town.

“We’ll drive through the city of Lauterbach – it’s the geographic centre of Germany,” Eberhard said, “and then go on to Homberg.

I opened the map as Eberhard continued speaking.

“Werner says we will stop for awhile at Alsfeld. He wants to show you the City Square. The Alsfeld Rathaus is the most photographed town hall in the whole of Germany.”

After the Sigma was parked and securely locked, Eberhard extended his arm and we strolled into the old city. I was reminded again of the similarities of architectural design I had noticed throughout Hessen.  The ancient cobblestones that paved the streets were the colour of ink.  Their worn blue-metal surface was surprisingly smooth beneath the soles of my shoes.

The white plaster of the houses were criss-crossed with timber supports painted in contrasting black or ochre brown, their floor levels dipping away beneath the weight of upper stories.

Alsfeld’s Rathaus was indeed spectacular. The ground floor was constructed of massive sandstone slabs, as though to withstand a punitive assault.  The four upper stories were again in the traditional white plaster, with a chequer-board effect created by the black, wooden cross beams and uprights. The frontage was broken at each corner by more black, diagonal wooden braces. At the sides, the steep, gray slate roof drooped down to cover two of the upper floors. Light and ventilation were provided for the top attic floor by dormer windows. From the lower part of the roof arose two rounded rooms, with six facets. These were glassed with windows like observation towers or conservatories. Overhead, steep spires soared to rise above the roof of the main building to form individual tops in the shape of Witches hats.

Alsfeld Rathaus

Alsfeld‘s medieval town centre proved to be a superb monument to medieval and Renaissance town architecture. Once surrounded by an oval town wall with four town gates and filled with timber-framed houses, the Alsfeld Rathaus dominated the town. The numerous half-timbered buildings, which provide a comprehensive overview of the history of wood-building from the late Middle Ages to the beginning of the 19th century, blended together to form a harmonious whole.

Minna, Werner and Eberhard

Eberhard and Minna at Alsfeld

Leaving Alsfeld we continued through undulating countryside which was steadily leveling out. We were traveling north beyond the Vogelsberg range. As we passed through the village of Rollshausen, Eberhard said, “Nine kilometres to Ziegenhain – the town where I served with the main Quarter Master Company of the American Seventh Division.”

“Do you recognise any of the landmarks?”

“Nein.”  We were crossing an old stone bridge when Eberhard spoke again. “I guess this road was here then, and this bridge, but everything has changed so much that nothing strikes me as familiar.”

Ziegenhain appears to be rather a dull town in comparison to others we had passed through.

“Treysa where I was held as a prisoner of war is just west of here.”

“Are we going there?”

“No. There’s nothing of special interest either there or here, whereas Homberg is on the verge of the Knüllwald, which is also known as the Red Riding Hood Forest. The Grimm Brothers collected tales from all over Germany and they were told a tale from this region of a lost girl and a nasty wolf.”

“The Grimm Brothers?”

“Yes. Lauterbach is mentioned in another of the Grimms’ tales. The one about  the Little Scalawag who lost his sock there. Also, Neustadt has a circular tower, from which Rapunzel supposedly let down her golden tresses.

Eberhard continued, “The Homberg Castle, the Hohenburg, was another of the castles destroyed during the 30 Years War. The ruins remain  on the hill above the city. While at the Fulda school we were brought through here for an excursion one year.”

“What was the purpose – fairy tales?” I joked.

“Ach Fay, no. The first year I attended the school in Fulda – 1938, we came through here on a school excursion to the Edersee. It was a geography exercise, because I remember writing an essay about the dam afterwards. You see Fay, the Edersee is a reservoir that was formed when the Eder River was dammed. It became a very important source of water for the industrial city of Kassel, which is just to the north of here. Like most big dams it also contributed power for the electricity grid.”

“I’m sure you found it very interesting.”

“Of course, but what you’ll find interesting, was how the British destroyed it. That was one of the dams bombed by the ‘Dam Busters’.”

“The ‘Dam Busters’? Weren’t they the ones who bounced bombs the way a stone skims along the water so the bomb would sink against the wall of the dam?” Many a time as a youngster I had practiced skimming flat stones across the pools of the Myall Creek beside my childhood home, counting myself successful if it splashed three times before losing momentum and sinking.

“Yes. They developed that technique because they couldn’t get a direct strike. The bomb sank against the dam wall before exploding.”

“Were many towns flooded?”

“Of course! It happened at night and there was no warning. Houses were demolished under the wall of water pouring down the gorge.  Bridges were swept away, roads and railways ruined. All the cultivated land in the valley was scoured of topsoil and the livestock drowned.”

“What about loss of human life?”

“I believe over a thousand people drowned. There was a Russian prisoner of war camp in the valley. Those prisoners were locked in at night. They never stood a chance.”

“How dreadful!”

“That’s war. The allies achieved their purpose. Not only did they rob the Ruhr factories of essential water and electricity; the Wehrmacht had to divert hundreds of soldiers to guard all the dams of Germany.  Ach Fay, I salute those young pilots! They had to come over the mountain rim, drop down to near water level, twist their way around the bends of the lake, before lining up towards the wall of the dam and releasing their bombs. Then they had to stand the plane on its tail and pull up over another mountain. An incredible feat!  It’s no wonder they took our Generals by surprise.”

“When was the Eder bombed?”

“On a moonlight night in May 1943, when the dams were full after the winter snows had melted.” Eberhard smiled at me. “The pilots who bombed the Eder were both Australians.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Why should you?

Eder Dam

Like the Mohne dam, the  Eder dam was a Gravity dam made from granite masonry blocks built between 1908 and 1914. It is located 60 miles south east of the Mohne Dam. At 145 feet (44 meters) high it was 25 feet higher than the Mohne but at 430 yards (393 meters) in length it was not as long. The base was 119 feet (36.2 meters) thick and 20 feet (6 meters) thick at the top. The Eder dam held back 200 million tons of water – the largest reservoir in Germany.

Due to its location surrounded by large hills, the Germans believed the Eder dam would be almost impossible to attack and therefore it had little defence unlike the Mohne  dam. There were no anti-torpedo nets or anti aircraft guns. There were only two guards on patrol on the dam with rifles. http://www.thedambusters.org.uk/eder.html

To be continued.

Fay’s book Wildflowers, wilderness and wine is available on http://www.australia-book.com.au

This book is an account of a year in her life with Eberhard managing a busy Bed and Breakfast home in a wine tourism district in southern Queensland, Australia.

Fay also writes a weekly post for http://fayhelwig.com about their way of life on the Granite Belt, a wine tourism district in the cool mountain highlands of southern Q.