Posts Tagged ‘Two Brothers’

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 TWO continued

Circling amidst cloud in the flight grid over Frankfurt, we had no sense of the impending landing as the pilot lowered the seven four seven down onto the runway. The ground suddenly loomed up beside our windows, there was the thud of touchdown, the scream of engines thrusting into reverse and I knew we were on German soil. Once in the terminal, we quickly retrieved our baggage and walked through Customs without being accosted. Eberhard greeted the waiting Werner, hugging him, and making no attempt to wipe the tears from his eyes.  He drew me over to meet my brother-in-law.

“Guten Morgen, Fay. Wie geht es dir?”

“Thank you Werner, I’m well, and how are you?”

I heard Werner query Eberhard, asking if I spoke any Deutsch? Eberhard replied that I understood a little, but could not converse.

I observed that Werner was a head taller than my husband and with a slight stoop to his back. Whereas the colour was still evident in Eberhard’s hair, Werner’s hair was snowy white and neatly combed backwards, without a part. His jaw line was less emphatic and the chin cleft merely a hint, but the nose was haughty. My first impression of Werner was that he had the face of a patrician.

Eberhard took the trolley, which his brother had held in readiness and after loading our baggage the two brothers headed for the exit. I followed quietly, noting the way Werner placed his weight on a stick and how Eberhard slowed his normal pace. Eberhard still walked with the upright posture enforced by military training and could have been mistaken for the younger man.

Stowing our suitcases in the trunk of his Sigma, Werner commented that we hadn’t brought many bags, as though this was a fault. Eberhard, immediately on the defensive, protested the importance of travelling light. I hoped Werner was genuinely glad to see us and his ungracious manner merely reflected unease.

Eberhard opened the rear door and seated me, asking solicitously if I was sure I was warm enough, then joined his brother in the front of the car. I listened to their conversation as we drove through the streets away from Frankfurt. Werner avoided the autobahn and chose a winding, scenic road leading east towards the hills of the Vogelsberg region. I could more easily get the gist of what Eberhard was saying, than interpret Werner’s words. Familiar with my husband’s accent, I only had to comprehend the subject of his remarks to follow his portion of the conversation.

Spring blossom

During the night rain had fallen in the district and clear water was overflowing banks of streams to spread like cellophane paper, glistening in pools across the lower meadows. The air was moist with dark clouds drifting southwards, ominously threatening further rain.

We passed through the medieval city of Budingen and began driving through a dense forest.

“Only nine kilometres now,” Eberhard said, “to Wolferborn.”

Rounding a corner, we saw men cutting and stacking short logs beside the roadway. I noticed the rough way the trees were broken and scattered across this hillside, damage that had not been apparent on the other side of the hill.

Werner explained that the winter storms were particularly vicious this past February, uprooting entire plantations of pine tees in some districts. The winds roared in from the North Sea like tornadoes, cutting swathes through two-thirds of the forests of Hesse. The wood we saw being stacked would be sold in the autumn for household consumption. In addition, the townspeople had been advised to buy and store enough wood for three years, as the foresters wished to conserve trees and would not be cutting wood for sale during the coming years.

I interrupted their conversation to ask Eberhard, “Are all these pine trees we see private or State forests?”

“Some forests belong to the local Duke of Budingen. Others are State forests, or are maintained by the equivalent of our Shire Councils. Werner just said that the men are working very long hours. They are trying to clear all the fallen trees from the minor roads, some of which are still blocked. They need to get the quality milling logs out of the forest and to a site where they can be kept moist to inhibit cracking. Also the undergrowth must be cleared of debris to facilitate movement and prevent forest fires breaking out this summer.”

Budingen district

I could scarcely credit the possibility of fires raging through these verdant forests where wet moss grew thickly on the cool northern side of the trees. The ground was trickling water, a constant seepage through a green abundance of herbage, brightened by tiny white anemone and golden primula flowers.

March was dry, I heard Werner say, and the farmers despaired for their wheat crops until the rains came the first week of April. The snowfall was unusually light this past winter, he grumbled. I listened to the scornful voice disparaging the farmers, whom he complained would soon be whining about too much rain if the clouds didn’t clear soon.

Rinderbugen

Werner was driving the Sigma aggressively, with what appears to me to be unnecessary haste. I would gladly have loitered along the road, as every twist or turn revealed a view of a flowering tree, or a rustic water mill, and once, a startled wild boar running alongside a stream. The men ignored the scenery, engrossed in their own conversation.

I had observed a lethargic somnolence enveloping every village we had sped through since Frankfurt, for there was seldom any noticeable activity. Cars moved occasionally, sluggishly towards some busy highway, but the fields and the villages appeared uninhabited.

We emerged from the forest and passed by the village of Rinderbugen. Eberhard half turned in his seat. “Wolferborn is the next village. Most of these villages are about two kilometres apart.”

As we drove down the main street of Wolferborn the pavement was deserted except for a warmly dressed couple, elderly women with shopping bags over their arms. They interrupted their chatter to stare at the passing car and Werner acknowledged them with a slight nod. Werner turned the Sigma sharply to the left. I felt the quick acceleration of the engine, propelling the car up a steep incline. Making another turn to the left, Werner entered a paved square and braked hard. Above us on our right was a large new, red block building overlooking this parking area.

At this level we were adjacent to the windows on the second floor of the family home immediately ahead. To reach the entrance we descended five steps to a landing, dominated by a huge rubbish bin. This flight of wide stairs continued down to the main street.  The Helwig family home was a half-timber house similar to many of the other village dwellings. The basement, most of which was below street level, and the ground floor wall were constructed of blue-metal, stone slabs, mortared together. Above this foundation, the traditional plastered pressed-earth walls revealed the contrasting timber reinforcement. Set into the side of a hill, the house sprouted from the ground, ending mushroom style, with a steeply slanted, red-tile roof above the windows of the attic apartment.

The door swung open and a plump, gray haired woman in a green cardigan hurried out to hug my husband. I saw tears in Minna’s eyes as she turned to greet me. “Ja Fay!” She hugged me and kissed me on each cheek and then, stepping back, she held my face between both hands and surveyed me critically.  I heard her telling Eberhard that I was just like the photographs he had sent them.

Once inside the door, we stood momentarily in a vestibule removing our coats to hang on racks above umbrellas and boots. Looking around quickly I grasped for bearings. A door on the left provided the entrance to internal stairs which lead down to the ground floor, occupied by Richard and his wife, Rosel.

Werner indicated we should follow him with our suitcases up the stairs on our right to the attic apartment. I observed that this area was partitioned to form three small bedrooms, each with a sloping ceiling, making it necessary to bend a little and lower one’s head on the recessed side of each room. We were given the room on the eastern side, with windows that opened out above the car park and corner garden. The other two rooms, Eberhard informed me, belonged to the grandchildren, Jurg and Patricia.

After depositing our bags, we descended the stairs where Werner drew my attention to the toilet and bathroom, which we passed on our way to the kitchen.  On this central apartment floor, the kitchen featured a large picture window with a southern aspect. This overlooked the main street of the village, providing a clear view unobstructed by the rooftops of the dwellings and shops on the opposite side, for the hill continued to slope steadily away. Below these buildings the stream glimmered between the willow trees lining its banks. Another two tiers of red roofed houses rose in terraced streets on the far side of the stream. Behind them the steep gradient of the far hill was scarred by a brown gravel track winding between hedges and copses of flowering apple trees and small fields of cultivated ground to a dense plantation of pines on the brow of the ridge – the Leisenwald.

Leisenwald

The kitchen was a large room, but due to the amount of furniture it contained, space was restricted. The table, which could comfortably seat six persons, was positioned in the corner to the left of the doorway. Along that wall, and across the end adjacent to the table, were built-in bench seats. Eberhard and I slid in along the wall and Werner took his place as head of the family on the bench seat at the end.

I was soon to learn that Minna and any family members present during meals used the three chairs. Behind these chairs and beneath the window was a couch that Minna called a day bed. This couch provided additional seating for visitors and was scattered with cushions, several magazines and a folded red rug.

Taking up less space than in most Australian kitchens, the whole food preparation and cooking area was crammed into the end of the room beside the door. I observed cupboard doors above, beside and below the kitchen sink, and set into the serving bench was an electric stove. But where was the refrigerator, I wondered? It was revealed as Minna opened the cupboard door beside the sink to bring milk for our coffee. The diminutive refrigerator, about the size of a bar fridge in a hotel room, was tucked into the recess.

Werner, Minna and Eberhard talked and laughed for more than an hour. Unable to follow this three-way conversation, I sat silently, soaking up the ambiance of the room. The scrubbed wooden table, benches and chairs, bore the mark of many years use. The couch sagged slightly in the middle. The pervasive cooking smells of tart apples and potatoes fried with onion filled the air. A tureen of soup simmered on the stove, emitting an additional aroma of steaming vegetables. The room was unnecessarily warm, and I wished one of the family members would open the window and allow a freshening breeze to enter.

Eberhard seldom paused to include me in the reminiscences. I realized I would have many lonely moments contemplating my surroundings during our stay. Only a week earlier, my mother had said, “You’re going to stay with his family? You’ll find it harder than you think!” At the time I had brushed her warning aside, for I was used to my mother trying to dampen my natural enthusiasm. Alone in my thoughts, I wondered how well I would fare in this foreign country. Suddenly a shiver tingled along my spine. I felt vulnerable. Had I made a mistake in thinking that this trip would be an exciting cultural adventure?  My happiness would depend on Eberhard understanding my needs.

Minna stood to set the tables with soup bowls, then extracted a glass bowl of Apfelmus from the refrigerator. From the stove she carried the tureen of Gemuese Suppe, and from the oven a platter, mounded with Kartoffle Puffers.

Kartofflepuffers

No sooner was my soup bowl empty than Minna moved to ladle another portion.  I hurriedly placed a hand over it to indicate I had had sufficient. Minna looked crest-fallen, until I remembered to say, “es hat geschmackt!”

Mollified, Minna pushed the bowl of Apfelmus across the table and indicated that I should help myself. I followed the example of the others and spooned a portion into my empty soup bowl. Minna urged me to try the potato pancakes, so holding one in my left hand, I took alternative bites of pancake between spoonfuls of the apple puree. To my surprise, I enjoyed the savoury and sweet combination.

Eberhard was excited and talkative, laughing whole-heartedly, and occasionally slapping me on the thigh. Minna chided him for hitting me.  Eberhard chuckled and replied that it was just a gesture of affection.

Standing and stretching, Werner outlined the afternoon routine. He explained that it was Minna’s habit to rest on her day bed in the kitchen after lunch, and he would do likewise on the divan in their formal lounge room behind the kitchen.  He opened the door to this room and I saw it to be larger than the kitchen, and again with a wide picture window overlooking the main street. Clearly Werner wanted to familiarize me with the house, for he opened the next door on the right to reveal their bedroom and the third door to show me it was a utility room. This room was a treasure trove. At the far end, beneath a curtained window, a sewing machine rested on a table surrounded by an assortment of pins, cotton reels and other dress making paraphernalia. An ironing board stood in the centre of the narrow room. On one wall were rows of shelves holding tattered magazines, books and stacked crockery. A sideboard held a fruit stand containing apples, oranges and bananas, half a loaf of brown bread and a factory-baked sponge cake. My puzzlement concerning the small amount of storage space in the kitchen cleared.  With the cellar beneath and this additional pantry space, Minna did not require the cupboard storage and counter space that I was accustomed to using.

Werner dismissed us with the suggestion that we too should take an afternoon nap. There will be coffee and cake later, he said.

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.