By May of 1944, the daily barrage of victory news on German
radio had ceased. After events in North Africa and the Allied
landings in Italy, Germany went from an offensive to defensive
posture overnight. Our news reports were undoubtedly censored, but
over time a vivid picture still developed that didn’t bode well for
Germany. Nazi commentators couldn’t totally gloss over the bad news
from the east and west. Every setback on the battlefronts resulted
in more deprivation at home. The real truth was all around us,
and it gave more and more people the courage to risk turning to
another source of information — the BBC German language broadcasts.
It may seem ridiculous that we feared being caught listening to
foreign radio. Naturally, it was impossible to police every radio
in every German kitchen and living room, but in a totalitarian
state, constant surveillance in each village and town wasn’t
necessary to establish fear. You worried about the neighbors and
their possible ambitions in and loyalty to the regime. The Gestapo
didn’t need an agent in every block, only people willing to report
the sins of their neighbors.
The shortages in food and materials for the civilian
population worsened, compounded in 1943 and 1944 by the poor
potato harvests. The scarcity of this main staple in our diet did
as much as anything to dampen German spirits. In the past, any
shortages were supplemented by shipping the product in from
another place, but bombing and strafing attacks on transportation
made this nearly impossible.
(Erich was home on a short leave from the Navy, but grew angry
when he learned Mama was pregnant to cure her severe illness. The
new baby was to be named Peter after my grandfaher.)
After Erich had left us in a huff, we heard nothing for months.
I wrote to him regularly, describing Peter’s progress and sweet
nature, and hoped the lack of mail from him was caused by sea duty,
not anger. Finally, in early July, a letter came. He explained in a
somewhat cryptic fashion, that he’d just been able to catch up
with his mail. While he was never allowed to state specific
information about assignments and missions, we were able to figure
out that he’d spent some time in Denmark. He covered quite a lot
in the letter, but didn’t acknowledge his new brother.
On July twentieth, the radio brought shocking news of an attempt
to kill the Führer. We were reassured that Hitler was only slightly
hurt, and he took to the air himself a short time later, promising
to punish the perpetrators and fight on against all enemies inside
and outside our country. This time, not many people found
inspiration in his words or voice. After a few days, the incident
amounted to no more than another hammer blow to numb the senses.
We all had problems closer to home to worry over.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
"Papa's amazing blind cousin"
Excerpt from Ch. 9:
We were on the road very early in the morning, so Papa stopped at
a bakery in one of the first villages. He bought two piping hot hard-
crusted rolls,fresh from the oven, and a small chocolate bar. We
each took a roll, literally cracking them open to reveal the
steaming soft interior. Quickly popping chunks of sweet chocolate
into the center, we closed them again to await the delicious result.
All along our route, we drove through inhabited places of varying
size. Tiny villages like Marienthal, the castle ruins of Falkenstein,
the larger market town of Rockenhausen, and a big wine-producing
monastery overlooking the quiet Nahe river, were all part of the
passing scene. I felt like a tourist, for much of what I saw was
new to me.
Bad Kreuznach reminded me of Bad Kissingen, with all of its fancy
resort hotels and gardens, mineral-water Salinen and lovely open
parks. I would have liked to see more, but Papa drove into the city
center to a row of high apartment buildings right on the Nahe
river’s edge.
Hilde lived in one of the buildings with her husband Walter and
twelve year-old son Horst. Both were already gone for the day when,
we arrived, so it was Hilde herself who answered the door. She
didn’t know we were coming, but that seemed to make no difference
at all. In our family, people always ‘dropped in.’
Papa greeted Hilde warmly. “Here, Hilde, I’ve brought you company
for the day. My Annchen!”
She immediately reached out, hugging me and drawing me through
the doorway. My father had said she could only sense light and
dark, so it surprised me that she knew where I stood. Her soft
hand explored my face, head and long braids, as her kind voice
welcomed us. Shyness wasn’t my problem as I tried to respond to
the tiny lady — it was more like being overwhelmed that someone,
who obviously couldn’t see, accepted me nonetheless.
Papa briefly explained that he would come in the evening, giving
me a smile as he said it. Then he was gone. I was left to face a
new challenge of being with a blind person, and for a whole day.
I’d been told Hilde was born blind, but not much more. My head
was filled with questions for her that I couldn’t ask. Something
inside told me to watch and listen.
As we walked through the small apartment to the living room, I
could see that Hilde moved with grace and ease. Everything was
sparkling clean and neatly arranged. The temptation to ask how
she kept the place so nice was strong, but I resisted.
“Come, child. Sit by me and tell me all about yourself.” She then
reached to a side table, picked up a knitting project, and quickly
started working the needles. “I’ll knit while you talk.”
I was amazed as I watched her fingers expertly purl and knit the
yarn. I had gotten to be a pretty fair knitter, but in no way could
I match Hilde’s skill. She obviously knew what I was thinking. “I
knit all our sweaters. The only difficulty is putting together
all the finished pieces. Walter’s mother lives near by, and helps
me do that part.” She changed the subject back to me. “Tell me
now about school and that rascal Erich, and dear Marie too.”
In no time, her interest and attention to me had my mouth going
non-stop. Because she always turned her face my way when I spoke,
and by witnessing all her abilities, Hilde’s blindness was nearly
forgotten. When I discovered that she also knitted garments for
regular customers to bring in extra income, I knew what Papa meant
when he called her a special person.
After the noon meal, she showed me around the apartment. Its
neatness and order told me the old saying, ‘A place for everything
and everything in its place,’ was especially important to someone
who couldn’t see. I was also shown the balcony projecting out over
the Nahe river. At one end was a small enclosure which I learned
was the toilet. The inside of Hilde’s balcony outhouse looked just
like mine at home, except our waste went into an underground
storage to be emptied several times a year for eventual use as
garden fertilizer. For Hilde, and others living along the river,
waste disposal was less of a problem. I was not exactly comfortable
with the idea of dirtying the river, but that’s the way it was.
Hilde had flower boxes along the balcony rail that were filled
with showy red Geraniums. Most of the balconies I could see had
similar displays, and it made me sad that she couldn’t see them.
From my balcony vantage point, I could also see one of the land-
marks of Bad Kreuznach. Just downstream, the river swirled beneath
a group of large houses built across a bridge.
Later, when Hilde and I walked to the town center to shop, we had
to cross the famous stone bridge that had been built several
hundred years before. Going along the inhabited side, there was no
sense of being on a bridge. All of the buildings, arranged in a
solid line,appeared like the usual apartment houses, with businesses
at the ground level. The realization of being on a bridge came only
by looking across the street. There, beyond a low wall, was a view
of the Nahe flowing away. I had to wonder what it would be like to
live on a bridge.
As we went from shop to shop buying for the evening meal, she took
my arm and hardly used her walking stick. Normally, she said, the
stick was used to warn her of obstacles, but she had the exact
steps to each turning point and store put to memory. “It’s nice,”
she laughed, “to not have to count today.”
I smiled, studying this person who was only as tall as me. “I just
hope I don’t get us lost.”
“Don’t you fret about that,” she chuckled. “I’ll say something
when the sidewalk doesn’t feel right under my feet.”
It was to Oma Klein’s side of the family that she belonged. That
explained a lot about her sweet nature, but more than that, I
learned disabled people could be productive and happy.
In the evening, I met Walter and Horst. Hilde already had the
potatoes peeled and the other ingredients prepared. Her husband
did the actual cooking. How I expected Walter to look didn’t
match reality. Slightly taller than Hilde, he was a pleasant
looking man,one that any woman with sight may have been pleased
to have. It was another lesson — jumping to conclusions was a
bad habit.
Driving home and talking with Papa about Hilde and others in
the family, I began to realize what he wanted for me. Over the
summer, he’d been using our travels together as a main chance
for me to know and understand his love of family. I never
doubted that he loved his wife and children, and I’d seen his
great affection for his mother, but until that day I’d never
fully known the true size of his heart.
We were on the road very early in the morning, so Papa stopped at
a bakery in one of the first villages. He bought two piping hot hard-
crusted rolls,fresh from the oven, and a small chocolate bar. We
each took a roll, literally cracking them open to reveal the
steaming soft interior. Quickly popping chunks of sweet chocolate
into the center, we closed them again to await the delicious result.
All along our route, we drove through inhabited places of varying
size. Tiny villages like Marienthal, the castle ruins of Falkenstein,
the larger market town of Rockenhausen, and a big wine-producing
monastery overlooking the quiet Nahe river, were all part of the
passing scene. I felt like a tourist, for much of what I saw was
new to me.
Bad Kreuznach reminded me of Bad Kissingen, with all of its fancy
resort hotels and gardens, mineral-water Salinen and lovely open
parks. I would have liked to see more, but Papa drove into the city
center to a row of high apartment buildings right on the Nahe
river’s edge.
Hilde lived in one of the buildings with her husband Walter and
twelve year-old son Horst. Both were already gone for the day when,
we arrived, so it was Hilde herself who answered the door. She
didn’t know we were coming, but that seemed to make no difference
at all. In our family, people always ‘dropped in.’
Papa greeted Hilde warmly. “Here, Hilde, I’ve brought you company
for the day. My Annchen!”
She immediately reached out, hugging me and drawing me through
the doorway. My father had said she could only sense light and
dark, so it surprised me that she knew where I stood. Her soft
hand explored my face, head and long braids, as her kind voice
welcomed us. Shyness wasn’t my problem as I tried to respond to
the tiny lady — it was more like being overwhelmed that someone,
who obviously couldn’t see, accepted me nonetheless.
Papa briefly explained that he would come in the evening, giving
me a smile as he said it. Then he was gone. I was left to face a
new challenge of being with a blind person, and for a whole day.
I’d been told Hilde was born blind, but not much more. My head
was filled with questions for her that I couldn’t ask. Something
inside told me to watch and listen.
As we walked through the small apartment to the living room, I
could see that Hilde moved with grace and ease. Everything was
sparkling clean and neatly arranged. The temptation to ask how
she kept the place so nice was strong, but I resisted.
“Come, child. Sit by me and tell me all about yourself.” She then
reached to a side table, picked up a knitting project, and quickly
started working the needles. “I’ll knit while you talk.”
I was amazed as I watched her fingers expertly purl and knit the
yarn. I had gotten to be a pretty fair knitter, but in no way could
I match Hilde’s skill. She obviously knew what I was thinking. “I
knit all our sweaters. The only difficulty is putting together
all the finished pieces. Walter’s mother lives near by, and helps
me do that part.” She changed the subject back to me. “Tell me
now about school and that rascal Erich, and dear Marie too.”
In no time, her interest and attention to me had my mouth going
non-stop. Because she always turned her face my way when I spoke,
and by witnessing all her abilities, Hilde’s blindness was nearly
forgotten. When I discovered that she also knitted garments for
regular customers to bring in extra income, I knew what Papa meant
when he called her a special person.
After the noon meal, she showed me around the apartment. Its
neatness and order told me the old saying, ‘A place for everything
and everything in its place,’ was especially important to someone
who couldn’t see. I was also shown the balcony projecting out over
the Nahe river. At one end was a small enclosure which I learned
was the toilet. The inside of Hilde’s balcony outhouse looked just
like mine at home, except our waste went into an underground
storage to be emptied several times a year for eventual use as
garden fertilizer. For Hilde, and others living along the river,
waste disposal was less of a problem. I was not exactly comfortable
with the idea of dirtying the river, but that’s the way it was.
Hilde had flower boxes along the balcony rail that were filled
with showy red Geraniums. Most of the balconies I could see had
similar displays, and it made me sad that she couldn’t see them.
From my balcony vantage point, I could also see one of the land-
marks of Bad Kreuznach. Just downstream, the river swirled beneath
a group of large houses built across a bridge.
Later, when Hilde and I walked to the town center to shop, we had
to cross the famous stone bridge that had been built several
hundred years before. Going along the inhabited side, there was no
sense of being on a bridge. All of the buildings, arranged in a
solid line,appeared like the usual apartment houses, with businesses
at the ground level. The realization of being on a bridge came only
by looking across the street. There, beyond a low wall, was a view
of the Nahe flowing away. I had to wonder what it would be like to
live on a bridge.
As we went from shop to shop buying for the evening meal, she took
my arm and hardly used her walking stick. Normally, she said, the
stick was used to warn her of obstacles, but she had the exact
steps to each turning point and store put to memory. “It’s nice,”
she laughed, “to not have to count today.”
I smiled, studying this person who was only as tall as me. “I just
hope I don’t get us lost.”
“Don’t you fret about that,” she chuckled. “I’ll say something
when the sidewalk doesn’t feel right under my feet.”
It was to Oma Klein’s side of the family that she belonged. That
explained a lot about her sweet nature, but more than that, I
learned disabled people could be productive and happy.
In the evening, I met Walter and Horst. Hilde already had the
potatoes peeled and the other ingredients prepared. Her husband
did the actual cooking. How I expected Walter to look didn’t
match reality. Slightly taller than Hilde, he was a pleasant
looking man,one that any woman with sight may have been pleased
to have. It was another lesson — jumping to conclusions was a
bad habit.
Driving home and talking with Papa about Hilde and others in
the family, I began to realize what he wanted for me. Over the
summer, he’d been using our travels together as a main chance
for me to know and understand his love of family. I never
doubted that he loved his wife and children, and I’d seen his
great affection for his mother, but until that day I’d never
fully known the true size of his heart.
Hitler and women.
Excerpt from "On a Green Twig":
The Deutche Frau was Hitler's main early target - - -
The dour and sometimes bitter demeanor that best described Mama
during the Marnheim years started giving way to a new positive
outlook after the move to Kirchheim. Her behavior in early 1939
surprised me at times. A near radical fervor for National
Socialism grew stronger in her with each passing day. And, it
worried Papa.
“Mariechen, he is not a god,” He said, following another speech
by Hitler.
“He’s only a man, and can make wrong decisions too. It’s not good
for you to have total faith in a politician!”
Papa wasn’t all that concerned about the excitement his children
had for all the radio talk of ‘a new and greater German Reich.’
We were young and needed a feeling of pride in our country. He
believed most people of his generation and older weren’t
completely taken in by Nazism, and would go along without
complaint only as long as the programs of the government continued
restoring financial security. As for the more radical elements —
those who espoused complete loyalty to one man and his ideas, my
father looked on them with suspicion.
With Mama, he worried that she was the perfect target for the Nazi
message. Since the collapse of Seppel’s empire, forcing them back
to Marnheim, Papa had lived patiently with her despondency and
absence of faith in anything but the Bible. For years, he lost every
effort to make his wife believe that success would come again. Adolf
Hitler had succeeded where he’d failed. Hitler was very clever in
winning the loyalty of the common people through the kitchen door.
His speeches constantly extolled the virtues of the “Deutsche Frau”
and “Deutsche Mutter,” as guardians of the home and the nation. And,
we all heard when the Führer repeatedly used phrases like “Gott ist
mein Zeuge!” (God is my witness!). God and the ‘German mother’
references always had a special appeal to religious women like my
mother.
The Deutche Frau was Hitler's main early target - - -
The dour and sometimes bitter demeanor that best described Mama
during the Marnheim years started giving way to a new positive
outlook after the move to Kirchheim. Her behavior in early 1939
surprised me at times. A near radical fervor for National
Socialism grew stronger in her with each passing day. And, it
worried Papa.
“Mariechen, he is not a god,” He said, following another speech
by Hitler.
“He’s only a man, and can make wrong decisions too. It’s not good
for you to have total faith in a politician!”
Papa wasn’t all that concerned about the excitement his children
had for all the radio talk of ‘a new and greater German Reich.’
We were young and needed a feeling of pride in our country. He
believed most people of his generation and older weren’t
completely taken in by Nazism, and would go along without
complaint only as long as the programs of the government continued
restoring financial security. As for the more radical elements —
those who espoused complete loyalty to one man and his ideas, my
father looked on them with suspicion.
With Mama, he worried that she was the perfect target for the Nazi
message. Since the collapse of Seppel’s empire, forcing them back
to Marnheim, Papa had lived patiently with her despondency and
absence of faith in anything but the Bible. For years, he lost every
effort to make his wife believe that success would come again. Adolf
Hitler had succeeded where he’d failed. Hitler was very clever in
winning the loyalty of the common people through the kitchen door.
His speeches constantly extolled the virtues of the “Deutsche Frau”
and “Deutsche Mutter,” as guardians of the home and the nation. And,
we all heard when the Führer repeatedly used phrases like “Gott ist
mein Zeuge!” (God is my witness!). God and the ‘German mother’
references always had a special appeal to religious women like my
mother.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Starting church in Kirchheim
Chapter Seven
I started attending church with Mama after our move. At the time, it wasn’t customary to take children until they could comfortably sit through a service. We went to the smaller St. Peter’s, a charming yet plain church with well-worn pews on the ground floor facing a simple altar and pulpit. A curved balcony covering the back half held a pipe organ and extra seating. I found the
church experience a little surprising. Except for singing, people kept quiet and
paid close attention to the Pfarrer (pastor).
St. Peter’s Kirche was located behind the city hall on Langstraße, but faced the Amtsstraße. Back when it was built in the year 1200, and for centuries after, it was Catholic and called St. Remigius Kirche. The Reformation in the Fifteenth century, led by Martin Luther, changed all that. Later, as Kirchheim became primarily Protestant, it was decided by the ruling Prince to build a church five times bigger, across and just up the Amtsstraße next to the old palace grounds. The new one was named St. Paul’s. It was too big to heat in winter, except for special occasions, and the smaller St. Peter’s would come back into use for the cold months.
Most memorable was my first Christmas service held in St. Paul’s, especially heated for the occasion. December 25th fell on Sunday that year, a fact that enabled Erich to come along. Sunday meetings of the Hitler Jugend usually kept him from attending. With Papa, it made for a rare appearance of our whole family seated in the pews. My father went to church once a year — on Christmas.
On Christmas, I heard for the first time the grand “Mozart” pipe organ, so named because Wolfgang Amadeus performed concerts on it. The congregation area, both on the ground floor and upstairs, struck me as rather plain.
The sidewalls and rear area were also without embellishment, except for the lovely stained glass windows, still in place at the time. All the glory was concentrated in the front altar area, and in the pulpit at the second level. Here was all the grandeur of the woodcarver’s art. The railings, tables, chairs, lecterns, pulpit, and even the wall behind the altar were all beautifully hand-carved. At the third level above, was the famous pipe organ created by master craftsman
Michael Stumm. When it’s glorious roar reached out to me on Christmas day 1938, there was no doubt of my new addiction.
In many ways, St. Paul’s didn’t appear like a church at all on the outside. No fancy steeple reaches for heaven, no bell tower of any kind — just a huge block of a building with only stained windows to indicate it’s religious purpose. Even these beautiful works of art were later removed, leaving only the altar and pipe organ as the center of beauty and religion.
Mozart, on his first visit in January 1778, was also confused about St. Paul’s lack of religious appearance, asking his hosts if it was the Royal Theater. Mozart would learn that it was the Schloßkirche (Palace church), as it was called in those days. The church was built next to the Schloßgarten (Palace garden) wall, which allowed the royal family private access to it. It was Princess Caroline, wife of Prince Carl Christian, who asked that Mozart performed an evening concert at the church’s massive pipe organ. He apparently entertained well enough to be invited back two more times. All this, I read in a pamphlet from a holder by the front door.
I have no idea as to the truth of it, but folklore says that Prince Carl August von Nassau-Weilburg, father of Carl Christian, had the church built in the 1740’s from ill-gotten money. Seems that Carl A. loved to gamble, and he especially liked to go to France and wager against King Louis. According to the story, the last time he traveled to Paris was in 1741 when he promptly got into a high stakes game with the king, losing all his money. Apparently, in the heat of the moment, the Prince became a bit rash and bet all his lands, including Kirchheimbolanden, against the King’s hand in the next game. Agreeing with the bet, this Louis — the fifteenth in a long line — is said to have taken the time to figure the worth of the lands in question. Once settled, the bet went forward. Luckily, for us, Carl August won and Louis XV graciously paid off in gold!
Supposedly the gold was used to build St. Paul’s later on. It did not include a bell tower, according to legend, because the new church was already higher than the Prince’s palace. Besides, he thought the bell tower of St. Peter’s, just across the street could be used. And so it was as I settled into Kirchheim life.
(The famed Mozart Organ can be heard by searching YouTube.Com for "Harre Meine Seele")
I started attending church with Mama after our move. At the time, it wasn’t customary to take children until they could comfortably sit through a service. We went to the smaller St. Peter’s, a charming yet plain church with well-worn pews on the ground floor facing a simple altar and pulpit. A curved balcony covering the back half held a pipe organ and extra seating. I found the
church experience a little surprising. Except for singing, people kept quiet and
paid close attention to the Pfarrer (pastor).
St. Peter’s Kirche was located behind the city hall on Langstraße, but faced the Amtsstraße. Back when it was built in the year 1200, and for centuries after, it was Catholic and called St. Remigius Kirche. The Reformation in the Fifteenth century, led by Martin Luther, changed all that. Later, as Kirchheim became primarily Protestant, it was decided by the ruling Prince to build a church five times bigger, across and just up the Amtsstraße next to the old palace grounds. The new one was named St. Paul’s. It was too big to heat in winter, except for special occasions, and the smaller St. Peter’s would come back into use for the cold months.
Most memorable was my first Christmas service held in St. Paul’s, especially heated for the occasion. December 25th fell on Sunday that year, a fact that enabled Erich to come along. Sunday meetings of the Hitler Jugend usually kept him from attending. With Papa, it made for a rare appearance of our whole family seated in the pews. My father went to church once a year — on Christmas.
On Christmas, I heard for the first time the grand “Mozart” pipe organ, so named because Wolfgang Amadeus performed concerts on it. The congregation area, both on the ground floor and upstairs, struck me as rather plain.
The sidewalls and rear area were also without embellishment, except for the lovely stained glass windows, still in place at the time. All the glory was concentrated in the front altar area, and in the pulpit at the second level. Here was all the grandeur of the woodcarver’s art. The railings, tables, chairs, lecterns, pulpit, and even the wall behind the altar were all beautifully hand-carved. At the third level above, was the famous pipe organ created by master craftsman
Michael Stumm. When it’s glorious roar reached out to me on Christmas day 1938, there was no doubt of my new addiction.
In many ways, St. Paul’s didn’t appear like a church at all on the outside. No fancy steeple reaches for heaven, no bell tower of any kind — just a huge block of a building with only stained windows to indicate it’s religious purpose. Even these beautiful works of art were later removed, leaving only the altar and pipe organ as the center of beauty and religion.
Mozart, on his first visit in January 1778, was also confused about St. Paul’s lack of religious appearance, asking his hosts if it was the Royal Theater. Mozart would learn that it was the Schloßkirche (Palace church), as it was called in those days. The church was built next to the Schloßgarten (Palace garden) wall, which allowed the royal family private access to it. It was Princess Caroline, wife of Prince Carl Christian, who asked that Mozart performed an evening concert at the church’s massive pipe organ. He apparently entertained well enough to be invited back two more times. All this, I read in a pamphlet from a holder by the front door.
I have no idea as to the truth of it, but folklore says that Prince Carl August von Nassau-Weilburg, father of Carl Christian, had the church built in the 1740’s from ill-gotten money. Seems that Carl A. loved to gamble, and he especially liked to go to France and wager against King Louis. According to the story, the last time he traveled to Paris was in 1741 when he promptly got into a high stakes game with the king, losing all his money. Apparently, in the heat of the moment, the Prince became a bit rash and bet all his lands, including Kirchheimbolanden, against the King’s hand in the next game. Agreeing with the bet, this Louis — the fifteenth in a long line — is said to have taken the time to figure the worth of the lands in question. Once settled, the bet went forward. Luckily, for us, Carl August won and Louis XV graciously paid off in gold!
Supposedly the gold was used to build St. Paul’s later on. It did not include a bell tower, according to legend, because the new church was already higher than the Prince’s palace. Besides, he thought the bell tower of St. Peter’s, just across the street could be used. And so it was as I settled into Kirchheim life.
(The famed Mozart Organ can be heard by searching YouTube.Com for "Harre Meine Seele")
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