Excerpts from Letters
by
Ekkehard Beinssen
Letter
from Jakob Brenn to Ekke Beinssen
Dear
Ekkehardt!
Received
your letter some days ago. Was very pleased to get it; and am sorry I never
answered before; but I where so busy ever, before I went away for my Hollydays,
to do and ceep everything in Rheingold nicly in Order. Well my Darling up here
are so many steamers waiting for Coals and have so much to walk allways [...]
Dear Ekkehardt, I am sorry I could not be home if you come on Dirstay, but I
will be back at night of the day and then I will be so glad to see you again.
Dear Ekkehardt the robe I promiset you to ceep, it is in that shed in the back
yard inside of the door it hangs up if you wandet before I will be back. My
dearling I must close now as I want to write some thing else to any other
friends, but I dought to you I will writ at first. I will send you any Card
from Maitland as I will be there after tomorrow. With best wishes and much love
from your friend Jakob. (12.12.09)
Poem
written for the Beinssen children by their governess Jessica Calver
Look Pleasant
We cannot of course all be handsome,
And it’s hard for us all to be good,
We are sure now and then to be lonely
And we don’t always do as we should.
To be patient is not always easy,
To be cheerful is much harder still,
But at least we can always be pleasant
If we make up our minds that we will.
Then make up your mind to seem happy,
Although you feel worried and blue.
If you smile at the world and look cheerful
The world will soon smile back at you.
So try to brace up and look pleasant,
No matter how long you are down.
Good humour is always contagious,
But you banish your friends when you frown.
And it’s hard for us all to be good,
We are sure now and then to be lonely
And we don’t always do as we should.
To be patient is not always easy,
To be cheerful is much harder still,
But at least we can always be pleasant
If we make up our minds that we will.
Then make up your mind to seem happy,
Although you feel worried and blue.
If you smile at the world and look cheerful
The world will soon smile back at you.
So try to brace up and look pleasant,
No matter how long you are down.
Good humour is always contagious,
But you banish your friends when you frown.
J. Calver
Excerpts
fromEkke’s diary for the trip to Germany on the Große Kurfürst
Saturday 25.3.11
After leaving Australia in a taxi cab, we went
into our cabins and made ourselves easy. There was an awful crowd on board and
it was hard to find our friends. Mother and Grandmother received many bouquets
and us also. The steamer began to move at about 1 o’clock . We threw ribbons to our friends and held them
to the very end. Seeing the last of our friends, we looked at the battleships Yarra and Parramatta
Sunday 26.3.11
[...] while we were lying down we
heard the wireless telegraphy going and as we had not heard it before we hoped
it was some wreck but we were disappointed. [...] We passed Wilson ’s Promontory and signalled our name to
the lighthouse. The Granowskis received a wireless from Captain Schmidt who was
in charge of a cargo boat and also their friend.
Monday 27.3.11
We came into Melbourne at five o’clock in the morning and I got up and woke the
Granowskis. We watched the tugs fasten onto our boat, but we had the tide
against us and one of the big ropes broke, so altogether we took a whole hour
to get alongside the wharf. We were surprised to see the old-fashioned cable
trams, which we liked better than the electric trams. We went to the Zoo while
Father went to his office. We did not like it as much as the Sydney one, although it is supposed to be
better. We came back in a horse tram which we thought still more ridiculous. We
went and had tea in Menzies Hotel and then Mr Somers brought us back to the
ship. We left at six o’clock
and expected it to be very rough as there was nearly a gale blowing that day.
[...]
Monday 10.4.11
Wilhelm told us that the bath was
being got ready for the christening. The second class people were done first,
first of all Father Neptune and after him the shavers with a shaving knife 2
feet long. The men were carried to the shaving place and were soaped with the
brush they paint the boat with and then thrown into the bath and hosed. Then us
boys’ turn came; we went into our cabins and put on our pyjamas and we were put
into the bath and also hosed but not soaped.
[...]
Wednesday 12.4.11
The Captain was on the bridge all
night because there was a hurricane and he did not know if it would catch us up
or not. But we only got the tail-end of it although the waves were coming over
her bow. One nearly got blown off one’s feet.
[...]
Friday 14.4.11
We arrived at Colombo at 6.30 am and it was a pretty sight
to see the palm trees etc. We left the boat at 8 am and went in rickshaws to
the Galeface Hotel and enjoyed the novelty. We went in a motor to the Hillarney Temple
[...]
Tuesday 18.4.11
The adults fancy dress ball came
off very well; Mother went as Powder and Patches and Ingeborg as Black
Pierette.
[...]
Thursday 20.4.11
We arrived at Aden at 12.30 p.m. . All the Arabs came in their little boats with
things to sell. They threw ropes right up to the promenade deck with baskets at
the end of them and things to sell in them.
[...]
Monday 24.4.11
Mrs Captain Rott and Captain Rott
gave a fancy dress ball for the children. I went as a Singhalese and there were
many other pretty costumes. We had a maypole and the decks were decorated with
flags etc. Afterwards we were all photographed.
[...]
Thursday 27.4.11
After Port
Said we did nothing exceptional till we came to the Straits of
Messina where we came to Stromboli . We could
not see it smoking as a cloud was just in front of it. There were villages on
its sides which seemed to have been built in a very dangerous spot. We passed
Capri, then we saw Mount Vesuvius and we saw
many little villages along the coasts. A boat was let down and went to the
quarantine station to fetch the doctor. In the evening we sat waiting; we heard
that there was small-pox on board.
Sunday 30.4.11
We went for a drive and then came
back and packed. We got vaccinated, we got off the boat a quarter of an hour
before it left. We waved to our friends till we could see them no longer. Then
we drove to the Bertolini’s Hotel, where we rested all the afternoon and then
we had dinner with the adults in the big dining room.
Letter
to Inge when World War I was imminent
Berlin,
Kaiserdamm 34, 1. August 1914
My dear old Spin!
We are already in Berlin. I will tell you how it all came to pass. On Thursday
we got up in Mariatorp thinking of nothing bad, as after breaker a little boy
brought us a telegram. We knew quite
well what was in it before we opened it.
Father had telegraphed that we were to come home at once, because of the
war that was most likely to break out. I tell you that was an excitement. I had
to run down to Mr Kostka and tell him to telegraph at once to Malmoe for a
sleeping car. Baby and Grandmother scraped all our belongings together and
packed, for we hat to part with the midday train. We were all awfully sorry to have to go away
from Lia. The Kostka family had been so
very nice to us. But it couldn't be
helped. At one we steamed off to Ullared
where we took another train to Varberg.
In Varberg we had to wait 2 hours for the train to Malmoe. The train was terribly full, but we managed
to get seats for us all. It was a
beautiful voyage. You know it already so
I need not describe it any more. In
Malmoe Granny asked for her sleeping-car tickets, which she had ordered. But the man said that they were all sold-out
since weeks. This took a fairly long
time, so we were almost the last to get into the train, and naturally we got no
places. The "Gänge" were full
of people, who could not get a place.
With much work Grandmother persuaded some people in the first class to
move together a bit and make place for Baby and herself. I sat on the necessere in the
"Gang" on the "Traieek". I took a cabin for the others
(Baby and Granny), and was to sleep in the train. For half of the night I
"strolcht" about on the boat and read jokes in the reading-room. Afterwards I went into the train to sleep,
but I could not sleep in the sitting position.
I believe I had drawn the better lot in staying on deck, for the other
two almost stifled down below in the cabin.
Anyway we arrived tired and safely in Berlin where Frl. Schneider
awaited us. We had breakfast and then
Mother told us to lie down. I don't know
how it came but I got up off the couch in the school-room opened the lift door
and drove down still sleeping. I don't
know what I did down there, but I only remember that I walked up the stairs and
rang at the wrong department. Isn't that
funny!!? Our train was one of the last
that brought passengers from Sweden; the others all bring officers or are used
to transport the soldiers the "Grenzen". There are already 16 "Battalione"
on the French and 4 on the Russian "Grenze". They must have all parted last night for I
heard through the whole night trains passing.
Isn't it terrible that there is going to be war. Mother, father and I were in town last night. We took the underground till Friedrichstr.
where we took a cab. We told him to
drive through the Linden and then to the Schloß. The streets were so full of people all going
to the Schloß that one could hardly get through with the carriage. As we passed the castle of the Kronprinz we
saw that it was guarded by a whole lot of soldiers and policemen. The people were in an awful excitement they
were crying Hurrah!! singing "Die Wacht am Rhein," and all sorts of
patriotic songs, and giving toasts on our Emperor. Around the Schloß were thousands and
thousands of people, also screaming and behaving themselves how I have already
described it. Just as we passed, the
Kaiser, the Kaiserin and the Kronprinz appeared at a window of the Schloß, at
whom the people took off their hats and screamed hurrah! till they were quite
horse. Now and then a motor appears full
of "Extra Blätter" which a little boy throws out onto the street
after which the people run like mad. As
soon as someone lets a paper drop straight away some one else picks it up. I have never seen something so interesting
and grand but also so terrible as this.
Because just fancy the people who are screaming today will perhaps lie
dead on the battlefield tomorrow or when.
The press can't print enough papers as are wanted to be bought. I had to go up three times to the
Reichskanzlerplatz before I could get a paper.
The air is full of rumours, one does really not know what to
believe. If England would keep cool and
"neutral" it would not be so bad for Germany, for Japan has said it
would attack Russia from behind (one also says it has made a "Bündnis with
Austria) and Italy would attack France from behind. Till you get this letter I suppose everything
will be different. Mother and Father thought
of fetching you, but no trains go from here to Switzerland. Hoping that everything will turn out best for
our dear old Germany, I am with much love and many kisses your loving
Brother
Ekke.
Holidays
with the Krauses in Walchstadt on the Wörthsee, July 1916
The trip down went well. It
consisted of eating and looking out of the window. The little house is just
beautiful. In the midst of dense trees it is situated at the edge of a beautiful beech forest. If you walk
through the forest you have a view the like of which you rarely see. In the
foreground is the Wörthsee, surrounded by superb forests and extensive green
fields and in the background a beautiful monastery, Andechs, lies on a hill. In
the far distance you can see the Bavarian High Alps. You can even see as far as
the Allgäu. Walchstadt is a small place so that you can be quite free and
uninhibited there. On the evening of our arrival we went straight down and took
a refreshing and cleansing bath in the warm waters of the Wörthsee. When we walked
back home through the forest it was already late so that you could see hundreds
of little glow-worms flashing everywhere. It was just lovely. Yesterday we went
fishing in the pouring rain and caught over a hundred fish in all. One of them
weighed four and a half pounds. But the others were all little perch and the
like, that you eat fried, bones and all. They taste good. Then we went for a
swim and unpacked. But the stiff shirts and collars and all that city stuff
won’t be needed here. All we wear is a sports-shirt and shorts. We go barefoot
all day and I have my old Australian calluses under my feet again. They are
more durable than any footwear. You turn into a real child of nature here,
which is my ideal. It is not like you thought it would be. [...] I would like
to thank you again very sincerely for letting me go; I feel completely at home
here. (Undated)
(On one of the rare fine days of
that summer the boys went off to Munich. Ekke went to the art galleries, in
particular the Schack and the Neue Pinakothek.)
Of course I liked Feuerbach best.
I fell in love with his Medea and his
Pieta in particular, literally in
love. And you know that I don’t fall in love easily. But I feel these two
paintings are like old friends. I also liked the two Kaulbachs and the Böcklin.
Then we went to eat in the Augustiner-Bräu. It was still just as cosy and
friendly as it was in winter. After that we climbed one of the two towers of
the Frauenkirche and had a marvellous view over all Munich and surroundings. In the afternoon we
made our way home again, after we had laden ourselves up with cheese etc.[...]
I am quite brown already and people say I look very well. That is also due to
our food, which is excellent: All potatoes and vegetables, very rarely meat,
which suits me fine. Above all, it is the milk curds which we get for lunch and
dinner and sometimes afternoon tea as well. The whole family is really quite
delightful. Yesterday evening, when we were returning from our swim, we ran
into - Hans and Lolo could not believe their eyes - Felix Kraus, their brother.
Through a mere coincidence he was transferred from the hell of the French front
near Noyon to Berlin .
You can imagine the delight of the family Kraus. He is likely to get three
weeks leave, so that he can actually spend the holidays with us. (19.7.1916)
This morning we went for a
marvellous paddle to the island in our canoe, which is very unstable, leaky and
tarry, a trip of about one and a half hours. For a while we went through very
high reeds and picked a large bunch of flowering water-lilies. Then we
disembarked on the island and climbed up a mighty linden tree, which was still
in full flower. Then we rummaged through an old abandoned castle. I can assure
you that after that breakfast tasted particularly good. In the course of the
morning we went bathing and I tried out for how long I could swim. I swam
breast-stroke in one go, without resting, for half an hour. After that I was
not in the slightest tired or cold. (21.7.16)
Coming back from a shopping excursion
to Munich with Lolo, Ekke discovered that the group had decided, on the spur of
the moment, to leave that very same afternoon for the planned climb of the
Zugspitze.
That meant changing quickly and
packing all that was required into the knapsacks. Then we had afternoon tea and
went heavily laden to Steinbach station. On the way I had a refreshing and
invigorating swim in the Wörthsee; then we were off. At six we caught the train
to Herrsching on the Ammersee. Then in the cool of evening we took the steamer
across the Ammersee from where we watched the most beautiful sunset. Having
arrived in Steegen we made our way through the village creating something of a
spectacle in our strange attire. For with our long alpenstocks and shorts, or
better leather shorts, without hats etc. we did look a bit strange. We had
another two hours and so had dinner there. In the best of spirits we then made
our way to the railway station and got on the train to Weilheim. At eleven thirty we wandered through
the town and after initial difficulties found quite good accommodation. Next
morning it was on to Garmisch-Partenkirchen .
It was a wonderful journey through beautiful Upper-Bavaria and our enthusiasm
became ever greater as we came nearer to the Zugspitze .
We arrived there before nine and now met with impediments, one after the other,
which were, however, all overcome by means of the most amazing strokes of luck.
Above all, we now had to book guides. So we betook ourselves to the head guide
of Garmisch-Partenkirchen
and he said that all the guides (during the war there were only six) were
already out. Then Hans’ and my boots were to be nailed with hobnails. The
cobbler wasn’t prepared to do that so quickly. Then we were to walk about three
hours to Eibsee in searing heat. By chance Mrs Kraus met a gentleman she knew,
a distinguished businessman, and on his recommendation the boot-maker
immediately fixed our boots. This gentleman had a brother in Eibsee. Mrs Kraus
telephoned him. He would try to book guides for us. He also told us that we
needed passports because the Wiener-Neustaedter Hut was in Austria . By good luck we obtained
seats in a carriage that was going to Eibsee so that we didn’t have to walk the
dusty road. Then we had lunch in Garmisch-Partenkirchen
and in a tearing hurry and with the help of a watchmaker I managed to unscrew
and repair my camera. But the uphill trip by carriage was so slow that we boys
walked and arrived in Eibsee before the carriage. There two guides were waiting
for us, a surprise that we certainly had not expected. Mrs Kraus’ friend
invited us for afternoon tea and, thus fortified, we set out with the two
guides. Our first destination was the Wiener-Neustaedter Hut. Initially we went
up through dark fir forest, taking long slow steps. (We had left at 6 pm .) At about 2000 metres height
the tree coverage stopped and we climbed upwards through desolate scree at the
foot of the Wetterstein
Range five o’clock start. But when we were up Mrs Kraus did not
feel well, for due to the thin air she had hardly slept and had palpitations.
So she went to bed again and we did not leave till eight. In the meantime we
boys clambered around in safe spots, went for walks on the big snow-field and
took a few photos which, however, are not yet developed. At nine Mrs Kraus felt
quite well again and now the real ascent could begin. We were roped up though
we protested at first; but later we understood why. One of the guides went
first at the head; about three meters on Niko, Hans, the second guide and Mrs
Kraus followed and I came last. We first traversed a wide and fairly steep
snow-field to the foot of the Zugspitze . Then
we had to go very steeply through a high chimney, over scree, snow-fields,
frozen paths which we had to find for ourselves, up onto the Zugspitze .
Finally you have to walk along a ridge. All along, it was only for those with a
good head for heights; for if you had slipped only once and lost your balance
without being roped up, you would have been lost almost every time. There the guide
had to help Mrs Kraus a number of times. But I was amazed how well she got up.
To make matters worse there was an extremely strong wind that almost blew you
down. Because of it and because of touching the cold snow and the cold rocks
your hands became icy cold. But the rest of us was not cold. You also had to be
terribly careful not to dislodge stones. For us boys the climb was not
difficult, but Niko was very clumsy and insecure in his climbing. Hans asked
the guide how I was climbing. He said : ‘He, climbs sekrisch well and she too.’ At the top we had a marvellous view;
there was no mist at all. Up there in the meteorological station we ate an
expensive and mediocre meal. It had the only advantage of being warm. Around
five we then descended into the Rein-valley along a very narrow but easy path.
At the foot we dismissed the guides and walked alone across a wide snowfield to
the Knorr Hut. We arrived shortly before an extremely thick fog settled across
the whole valley. There it was also very nice and cosy, however there were too
many people there. We spent the night on mattresses again and in the morning in
thick fog descended through the Rein valley to Partenkirchen. Soon the fog rose
and we followed the most beautiful path you can imagine, along the banks of the
Partnach. We saw the falls and the gorge, which are incredibly beautiful and
awe inspiring. In the evening we arrived in Garmisch-Partenkirchen and took the train to
Schondorf on the Ammersee. Then we walked another two and a half hours in the
complete dark to get home. At eleven
thirty we arrived and woke the whole house with our dreadful
caterwauling. We didn’t get to bed till after midnight . I am not in
the slightest tired. Nor are my legs at all stiff. So it obviously didn’t
harm me one bit. - This description will give you some idea of the beauty of
our tour. Many, many thanks! These holidays were the best I have ever had.
(6.8.16)
Ekke’s War Letters
The swearing in:
Lieutenant
von der Pfalz first called on all the Prussians to come forward, practically
all of the 600 men; those in front placed their left hand on their sword and
raised their right hand and then repeated the oath of allegiance which the
lieutenant recited to them. I was mightily moved when I saw all those young
fellows, many still boys, enthusiastically committing themselves to the
fatherland and the Kaiser. I was strongly reminded of the painting by Determann
[?] We come to pray that was shown in
the exhibition of war paintings two years ago, I think. Then those who were not
Prussians were sworn in, every different nationality separately. Coming from
Bremen I was last of all and was the only one who had to swear allegiance to
the Senate of Bremen, and then of course also to the Kaiser. Then we marched
back home and arrived here again at four. - It really was very solemn and
moving.
Our departure
was wonderful. People say that even at the start of the war the enthusiasm was
not greater; the whole of Naumburg was out and about to wave us a fond
farewell. All two-hundred men were festooned with flowers, the Major himself
accompanied us to the station, and the band played to the last. We sing as we
pass through every station and the people all wave and cheer.
From
Passchendaele:
Dear family!
Today I have
seen and experienced the most terrible things in my whole life. It is not only
a miracle but I must have been in the hands of some supernatural providence to
be still alive with sound limbs and more or less healthy. I took part in the
great battle of Flanders in the front line. I
will have to write in more detail from the position of rest to which we are now
being moved because it is already dark and we have no light. For four days we
lay in the midst of a bombardment that only let up during the day and towards noon . For two of them we lay in a
kind of log hut that was, however, open on all sides and through which the wind
and rain just whistled. For the last two days we lay in bomb craters, some of
which were half full of water. And there you lie alone or in twos, pressed
close to the ground and listen to shells exploding to the right, the left, in
front of you and behind you and wait for a direct hit to make a speedy end to
it all. This morning, from four till about ten, the bombardment intensified to
an unprecedented severity and then the attack followed. Mortars, mortars with
delayed action, shrapnel, incendiary bombs and aerial bombs rained down on us,
two meters, three meters away from our crater. Positioned beside us, about
three meters away, was a light machine gun with three men which received a
direct hit. The machine gun fell on the head of one of them, pushed in his
steel helmet so that we could hardly pull the helmet off, both legs were also
paralysed. We bandaged him up and others carried him back. Shortly after, a direct
hit slammed into our hole, two men and me, and buried us in mud so that we just
managed to get out. I had two rifles shot to pieces and a hole in my trousers.
But in spite of being disarmed, I was not allowed to go back, only when our
company commander was seriously wounded. And going back through the bombardment
you jumped into craters, over the dead and I must say, the fact that I wallowed
back through the mud to the first aid post is amazing, considering the British
were hard on our heels and were coming at me with machine guns. The battalion
has never experienced the like and has terrible losses. I don’t know what has
become of Mootz, he isn’t back yet. More later. I can’t see a thing anymore.
Much much love
P.S. By the
way, I am almost deaf in one ear. But it’s already getting better. The Tommies
had broken through our lines but the second Jäger
regiment drove them back.
This morning
at seven when I had made it back out of battle for the second time and,
physically and mentally tired and numb, had lain down on the straw in a large
barrack full of battle-weary, dirty, wet and shivering soldiers, the sergeant
came and said I had received a telegram ‘Grandmother passed away peacefully’. I
said I had long been expecting it and it hardly moved me at all. I just felt
sorry for you, incredibly sorry! And I would have liked to run home and throw
my arms around you and pour out my grief-stricken heart to you and tell you
that death is of no consequence, it’s nothing, nothing at all. Anyone who saw
death as I did is no longer afraid of it and must tell himself that it is
better for the person concerned than life. For anyone who is still sensitive to
the misery on a battlefield - and thank God I no longer am - must come to the
conclusion that life is something bad and that death is a release from evil.
Perhaps I am still too affected by my latest impressions, but everyone who has
seen all that I have seen and experienced must come to this conclusion.
How I would
have loved to see our dear grandmother once more; she must have looked
beautiful in death; our dead all have such pain-wracked, gruesome faces. If I
had the time, I would recount all my experiences to you. But we are lying on a
floor here with a miserable light, and then I still have to clean up my muddy
stuff too.
At midday yesterday we went back out to
a support line very close to the artillery and there we got all the shells that
fell short of their target. There we had one dead. Then we moved to a forward
position for the counter-attack to engage the British when they came out from
behind their smoke grenades. But they didn’t come. In the midst of the heaviest
mortar fire I slept very soundly in a wet crater and dreamt too. Then the call
went out: ‘Volunteers to carry the wounded needed’. I was the only corporal to
step out and ended up leading eight men forward. We reached the foremost
positions by a road which was, however, under fire and completely torn up. Then
the route led about a kilometre to the left to the third company of the 16th
Jäger. Now you have to imagine the battlefield: there is not a blade of grass
to be found, not a tree that is more than a black stump, and one crater after
the other full of water, full of mud, full of barbed wire. We eight men now
walked along the front line in the pitch-black night; we had to lie flat
whenever a flare went up and arrived just as the alarm was sounded that the
British were attacking. We were all without weapons, a distinctly uncomfortable
feeling. On the way, we were fired on by shells; we just had to get ahead as
quickly as possible and consequently fell from one pool of mud into the next.
Then we pulled a poor wounded man out of a cellar where he had lain for three
whole days and laid him onto a stretcher made of poles and a tarpaulin. Because
of the heavy weight we sank knee-deep into the mud each time, had to put the
wounded man down and pull each other out of the mud. So it took us about an
hour to carry him about 800 meters through the shellfire. On top of all that,
the Tommies had discovered us and had their machineguns trained on us. One of
us fell into a crater that was full up with water and dislocated his leg, so
that later we had to carry him too. You can imagine how grateful the poor chap
was to be in dry and tolerable conditions at the main dressing station. In the
meantime it was three in the morning and our battalion had already gone back so
that we had to search for it from one dead deserted hamlet to the next till six
in the morning. To make matters worse, masses of dead lay around on the roads
and in the craters so that we often stepped on one of them by mistake. Horses
too lie around in great numbers. You can imagine that after that night I was
dulled to the sad news about our darling grandmother. Really, it is impossible
to imagine such a war, such shell-fire and such mud. But I am blunted to
everything and am no longer in the slightest afraid of shells or other
dangerous things.
I received
your parcel with the cake, the Sanatogen and the cigarettes and your dear
letters; thank you very much for them. You can probably imagine what they mean
to me. (11.10.17)
Dear parents,
dear sisters!
Wrote you a
long letter on the 11th but couldn’t finish it before we had to go forward
again and now it’s in my pack and I’ll send it out to you as soon as possible.
Last night, when we were in the rear again there was a heavy bombardment in
front and in the morning the alarm was sounded and we had to go forward again.
All day we lay in craters in the rain and around evening we were told to get
everything ready for the counter-attack. Under heavy shell-fire we advanced
across the miserable, desolate and muddy battlefield and came into such severe
machinegun fire and into our own barrage fire, that the dead and wounded were
just strewn around me. It didn’t get to close combat because both parties ran
off. All night long we looked for our quarters, muddy and drenched to the skin.
The casualties are enormous! Gas was also used as well as incendiary bombs etc.
Tonight we will be relieved. I am still healthy, only very muddy and wet.
Please send me some strong brandy or schnapps. And could you put some wrapping
paper and string in the parcel too. Much much love, yours Ekke.(13.10.17)
Did I really
not write where we were fighting? Around the village of Passchendaele midnight and since nobody came to collect us we
went back with a non-commissioned officer taking responsibility. Naturally we
were covered from head to toe in mud and looked like negroes since the dirt had
splashed into our faces. When I was walking back it also got into my eyes, so
that I couldn’t see anything for a while and fell into barbed wire, destroying
my clothes and ripping my fingers. Overnight we stayed in a house where we
chopped up tables and chairs to make a fire so as to warm and dry ourselves a
bit at least.
I am
surprised at myself that throughout the entire battle I wasn’t in the least
nervous and my heart didn’t beat faster at all. That isn’t bravery but inherent
indifference.
The Tommies
had already advanced when they saw us coming in extended order so that the
counter-attack was completely and totally successful. They suffered huge losses
and we also took several prisoners. They were all Australians opposite us and I
have letters belonging to a fallen Captain from Sydney - Mr G. W. Richardson. I
may also get his photos, which somebody else has. A bit later they took off his
boots. I must say, there was a lot of looting. A pilot who came down was
undressed down to his shirt when he had hardly hit the ground. I think it is
really disgusting and of course I didn’t do it, though the enemy are also
guilty. Perhaps I can write to the relatives of Mr Richardson after the war. I
am sending you the letters.
Mootz too has
had a lucky escape and also went through a lot. We are both still quite
healthy. Mootz has lost a fair bit of weight.
It is really
amazing how flexible young people are and humans as such. Now that things are
going well once more, we have forgotten all the pain and can laugh and fool
around again.
(Iseghem, 17.10.17)
Action
on the Marne, July 1918
Today the
worst possible thing happened. Our own 2cm mortars did not shoot far enough and
landed two direct hits in our trench. The first one killed two men and wounded
a number and the second came down in the place where the trench was a little
wider and where Lieutenant Meinecke and I and five others were squatting. Five
men were dead, Lieutenant Meinecke seriously wounded, and I, yes I really don’t
know how it came about, I didn’t even get a splinter and wasn’t unconscious
either. (19.7.18)
At 4.45am I
ran to my platoon, gave the last commands and then arranged the men in the
order in which they were to mount the attack. [...] Going through the valley
was as strenuous as anything I have encountered, since it was first filled with
gunpowder smoke and then with our gas which had been blown back. In the end you
went into contortions to get air. Up on the ridge the company captured the
first machine-gun nests and a whole lot of prisoners. Then we went down again
through the vineyards in the valley, across a broad stream and past the eastern
border of Menicourt. And there we lost contact with the battalion to our left
and right and there the French artillery also started up again. Up to the
beginning of Orcourt we had no casualties. But suddenly massive machinegun fire
hit us from three sides, and the first men fell or were wounded. Strauss ran
forward into the village with his group and I wanted to follow with mine
shortly afterwards. But we were met with such gunfire from the houses that I
got the men to lie down again and first let off a salvo into the window. Before
those inside then dared to look out, we had already leaped into the first
house; took a number of prisoners who gave us chocolate and champagne and a few
other things from out of the houses. Then we worked our way through the gardens
to the other end of the village. There Meinecke was positioned with his group
and had already discovered a machine-gun nest. I got them to shoot my light
machine-gun at it and the shock troops were then to work their way forward
under its protection. But so many of the men were immediately shot by marksmen
on the trees that I and the lieutenant could convince ourselves that it was quite
impossible to make headway. We were all lying low in a furrow and the fellow
aimed so well that he shot through our satchels only millimetres above us. We
lay like that for almost an hour without being able to move. Schoof had
received a shot in the stomach and Müller and I bandaged him with great
difficulty, lying on our stomachs. Eventually I took the daring decision to
jump up suddenly and run about 40m into the next house. Because I was running,
the marksman couldn’t aim properly and so I got through unscathed. I wanted to
mobilize the heavy machine-guns but these had enough to do with the machineguns
around them. I then leaped further ahead and into a crater, just in time to
make myself small because the machine-gun had seen me only too well and was shooting
just above the rim of the crater so that the missiles lodged in the wall
opposite. I then got my men, who were still lying on the exposed field in front
of the village, to jump back into the first house which was thereupon prepared
for the defence. From ten till six at night my platoon then defended Orcourt
all on its own. We shot down many, many Frenchmen and took revenge on the
marksmen. I sent those who were not on guard duty into the village to plunder
what we needed. They brought coffee, sugar, chocolate, bread, jam, tins etc.
etc. More of this another time. (23.7.18)
Armistice
My last
letter was tripe. At the time I was with the transport people and about to go
out to a position. I just didn’t want to worry you. But now it’s okay to tell
you. We are two kilometres behind the front line in an undestroyed village in
white beds and are awaiting the armistice. Not a shot is being fired. [...] It
should come tonight or tomorrow. Hindenburg has already issued an order that
there is revolution at home, so to speak, and we out here should at least
remain disciplined to the end. (10.11.18)
Hejaz
Three weeks after his arrival in February
1925, Ekke was invited to participate in the festival celebrating the ninth
anniversary of Arab liberation from Turkish suzerainty.
In the
morning everyone of importance in Jiddah called on the King to shake his hand
and congratulate him. We did too, of course. Later, all the officers of the Hejaz army etc. were assembled at the house of the
Minister for War and coffee with myrrh was passed around. That was done in the
genuine Arab manner where you can’t be too ‘finicky’. A servant holds two cups
without handles in one hand and with the other pours two or three drops into
the cups from a finely crafted silver jug; you drink them up immediately. The
next person then gets his drop from the same unwashed cup, so that in the end
ten or twelve men have drunk from the same cup. Hardly a word was spoken so
that the festivity resembled a funeral more than a joyous occasion. Apologies
were then made to us Germans that this was not the normal way of celebrating,
but the country was at war. We said that we too were of the hope that the
capital Mecca
would soon be in the hands of the Government once more, and that was the end of
the conversation. Twenty shots were then fired at the enemy, in the course of
which one of our cannons broke. This was accompanied by music and the people
cheered up to the King’s palace. (6.3.25)
That night the festivities continued and
Ekke described them next day:
The immediate
occasion was a celebration for the Minister for War, Tessim Pasha, his adjutant
who is also the Minister for the Navy, and the Minister for Health, who all
have great deserts with respect to the freedom and independence of Arabia . The festival turned into a real demonstration for
the independence of Arabia , which is to be
achieved from here. For Jiddah, what remains of the Kingdom of Hejaz Arabia which is completely
free of European or other influence. The offensive, which is to begin next
Friday, will first destroy the few trouble-makers, the Wahhabis, whom the
British are encouraging to wage war against tribes of their own people, since Britain has an
interest in Arab dissension. So Britain
is not on the side of the Government of Hejaz, though on the surface it is
benevolently neutral. Later the push is to be extended and the French chased
out of Syria ,
the British out of Mesopotamia and Palestine
etc., assuming it should not be possible to achieve this by means of the League of Nations . Nearly all the officers here are
Syrians, expelled from their homeland by the French. Fifty per cent of them
have already been condemned to death. The French seem to be behaving just as
they did with us on the Rhine . But the Arabs
are better at hating than we are. The festivities yesterday were conducted more
or less in the following way.
On a large
open square a canopy was erected with splendid divans placed before it and the
ground in front of it covered with huge, magnificent rugs. Around this carpeted
square three to four rows
of chairs were erected. In the middle were tables with lamps. To the right and
left two good military bands. On the divans sat the three gentlemen who were to
be honoured and, as representative of the king who never participates
personally in such mass assemblies, an Arab prince, also a descendent of
Mohamed. On the chairs sat the entire corps of officers and civil servants, and
we too. Behind us many thousands of the people. It began with a prayer chanter
sitting down on one of the chairs in the centre of the rectangle with crossed
legs, facing towards Mecca ,
and chanting about twenty surahs of
the Koran. [...]
Second on the
agenda was the song, the song of hatred that the Syrians sang when they left
their home, which song has now been adapted as the Arabic national anthem by
replacing ‘Damascus’ with ‘Mecca’. I will send Gerda the music in the next
mail.
Then came the
great speeches. Coffee was served, then more speeches were given, a poem
recited by a twelve-year-old girl and finally Arabic songs were sung by all the
people, continuing till far into the night. It was a magnificent picture which
we had directly in front of our window, quite unreal in its partly artificial,
partly moonlit illumination. (7.3.25)
Three months later:
For Hejaz is
lost and I predict that it will not last for another five weeks. No money, no
soldiers (1200 men) scandalous leadership, a king who is too kind and soft
surrounded by a pack of scoundrels of quite amazingly clever wickedness and
corruption who make it impossible to attract intelligent men, have driven away
the only good people and strong men who were working unselfishly for the cause,
and are robbing the government brilliantly. (Reason for the bankruptcy). [...]
All the freedom-loving Syrian officers who had hoped to win the liberty of
their fatherland and realize the great Arab ideal of unity using Hejaz, the
only independent kingdom, for their base, are now withdrawing and changing
sides, for Ibn Sa’ud does actually appear to be a kind of Arab Bismarck and is
at present the greatest and strongest prince. Ibn Sa’ud has recently been sent
30,000 Indian soldiers and it appears that the Muslim world, which is suffering
greatly from this war in respect of its pilgrims, is siding with Ibn Sa’ud. The
civilians in Jiddah are also opposed to the government, which is without
question bad, but don’t dare to do anything as the time has apparently not been
ripe as yet. In a European setting things could not go on like this for more
than eight days. But Arabia is unpredictable.
(1.6.25)
Bandar-e Lengeh on the Persian Gulf (on the Way to
Teheran)
Around
sunset, we went on land, had a look at the town which is built entirely like a
fortress and is one of the most typical oriental towns I have seen, and then
started off along the beach under the direction of two black guides. One of
them carried the knapsack, the other the lantern as the moon was only due to
rise later. After two or three hours we reached the village of Kong
Rabaul, the strike of native workers, 2 and 3
December, 1928.
To his father: After a good trip I arrived here on 27 December,
1928. Thurston had gone down to the Drina and
Palmalmal with the Nusa and had taken
a number of people to celebrate Christmas and the New Year. [He] came back on 2
January. He is sticking by what he told me earlier, but hasn’t paid all his
debts yet and doesn’t know whether he can start this month. The Nusa is running well. I have
consequently applied for a tally job so as to earn at least some money while I
am waiting. Today is Sunday and two copra ships have arrived but I don’t yet
know whether I have been accepted. I won’t find out before tomorrow.
In the meantime, you will have
read in the newspapers that we have had a strike and mutiny here and that the
situation, though not dangerous as concerns the safety of the inhabitants, is
so with regard to the whole future of the labour question. The campaign was
well organised, apparently by the Methodist missionaries, so that the kanakas
themselves shed their prejudices towards other races and tribes and almost four
thousand workers and kanakas left the town and the plantations overnight
without a single official or private person having the slightest knowledge of
this. [...] [E]ven today about half of them are still in the bush and in the
mountains around Rabaul and the government has as yet not been able to
apprehend the main culprits and ringleaders and round up the kanakas who have
run off.
This is not really so bad but it
is the beginning of emancipation and it won’t be long and they will be of no
use to us any more. All the people whose judgement one values, myself included,
are of the opinion that the country here has had it. The workers want higher
wages and better conditions and even now it is hardly possible to run a
plantation economically. Consequently, just imagine how unprofitable it will be
when they actually push through higher wages. And even if the higher wages are
not conceded, it will later become impossible to get workers anymore. But on a
plantation you cannot calculate from one day to the next but have to think
ahead ten years. Thurston is also very pessimistic. Several resolutions have
been put to the government, among them also the introduction of absolutely
essential corporal punishment, but it is fairly unlikely that it will be
passed. On top of that, the white people even now cannot agree and there were
heated debates in the meeting yesterday. I really do not know what to do now.
Anyway, I will wait how events unfold and what Thurston decides. But if things
are going to develop as they appear to at the moment, there is no sense in
aiming at a plantation. It would be completely useless and wasted effort.
To his mother: And now a little about my plans. As I wrote in my
last letter, nothing has come of the Drina
project. [...] [A]s you know, we have had a strike here with the mutiny of the
entire police force. That was on 2 and 3 January. Rabaul, where there are
usually thousands of black boys, labourers and domestics and which has
approximately 250 armed black police soldiers, was totally deserted overnight
without a white man or anyone else having noticed. All had gone out to the
missions which were supposed to be the rallying point. Higher wages were
demanded and statements were made by the blacks that if the white man wouldn’t
agree, black and white blood would mingle. The missions were sensible enough
not to send the boys back as they would have posed a risk for the town in their
agitated state. After much palaver and threats to and fro they finally decided
to return, with the government displaying incredible weakness. The white
population took over the security of the town ( they didn’t want us Germans,
later even blamed us for the uprising, quite publicly in the newspapers, and we
have now started legal proceedings with the purpose of having the matter
investigated and revoked). But not all the boys returned, only a section. The
others camped in the hills around Rabaul. At night you saw thousands of little
fires burning. Finally it all petered out, the ringleaders were punished with a
few years prison and the entire police contingent was condemned to three years
forced labour, road building in New
Guinea . The result is, however, the
beginning of the end of the rule of the white race over the black. [...] It may
take many years, perhaps even centuries, but it will come. The percentage of
boys who have worked with white people is of course small in relation to the
entire population of New
Guinea . For in the interior there are still
millions who have never seen a white man. In my opinion and according to my
observations, the idea [for the strike] originally came from the steamers and
the strike and the mutiny were instigated by agents of the Ethiopian Movement
who arrive here as stokers on the ships and use the opportunity to speak to the
kanakas and stir them up. Anyway, the government has already raised wages,
decreased working hours etc. and the kanakas have actually won. And as the
ringleaders themselves said when they prevailed on the people to return to
their masters, this time we didn’t quite make it but next time we will be
successful. And so wages will be constantly rising and the plantations, which
even today with the low price of copra can hardly be made to pay, will become
completely unprofitable. Something similar has already happened in the case of
rubber and it is on the cards that the same thing will happen with copra.
Anyway, I won’t risk putting ten years of money and work, and the best years of
my life at that, into such an unprofitable undertaking. I have written that to
Father too who wrote back with the last mail that I was to come to Sydney again. But I called
that off as I already have other plans. (17.2.29)
The Ethiopian Movement was a black African
Christian movement that grew out of the Anglican and Methodist churches in
southern Africa in the late 19th century. It opposed white supremacy and
advocated religious and social reform.
On the Mainland of New Guinea
I can assure you that I have not
felt as well and healthy for years and also not been as happy and serene as
during the time that Baum and I have been gone from Rabaul. This is an area
that is more beautiful than the Allgäu, with a milder climate, eternally blue
sky and at 1500 metres its air makes breathing and living a delight. Baum is a
fine person; there has not been the slightest friction between us and we have
often laughed so much that our sides hurt next day. And all from sheer joy of
living. Something akin to a nightmare has been lifted off my soul and I feel
more free within myself than I have felt at almost any other time, certainly in
such an enduring measure. (23.3.29)
The kanakas themselves are
the finest types that I have seen so far. They look as though they were a
mixture of Negroid, Mongolian and Arab. Some of them have very delicate faces,
quite European and often not in the least Negroid. And what is astounding is
that they all have a well developed sense of humour and even if the work is
strenuous they are always in a merry mood. I have never seen so many happy
faces in one place before. My current line of workers too is constantly
laughing and at night there is no end to the stories they still have to tell
each other. (6.4.29)
Diary on the Jilek
29.5.29 (Wednesday) Go up to a
spot 500 metres from the waterfall with all the boys and position the box so
that I can sluice. A huge job to dam the water. Takes till midday . Then worked the box for about two hours
till heavy rain came, so heavy that in about half an hour the river could no
longer be crossed and we had to do a huge detour through the pathless bush and
across the mountains to get home. The constant rain is most annoying. Wet
through in spite of raincoat. House also leaked. Everyone wet.
30.5.29 (Thursday) Worked with
the sluice box all day but without much success since I have not yet reached
the bottom; dig a trench up the river-bed to find the bottom. Then rain, wash
pans. The first one very good reef gold. Must be close. Feet still very bad.
The right one is swelling again. Will rest it on Saturday and Sunday.
Unfortunately can’t wear the gumboots. In the evening read letters from Eri [
the German girl-friend who had died] and Ami till very late. Got terribly
upset. Am not over the business with either of them. Right in the middle of it
with Ami. Thought of a novella based on the song ‘Brüderlein, Schwesterlein’.
31.5.29 (Friday) Set out early
with the boys. Worked on the trench. But not found anything yet, or rather not
deep enough yet. But so far it is looking good. In the morning, mist and fine
rain. Then in the afternoon good weather with dark blue sky. Pay the boys
today. Monthly wages. Legs and feet etc. still very bad. Constantly pussy in
spite of treatment. Next month I will be thirty. Good God!
1.6.29 (Saturday) In the
afternoon worked on the trench. Then dismissed all the boys around 3 pm. Cleaned my wounds carefully,
treated them and bandaged them. Read and wrote. Today the first day without
rain for a long time. Am not going to Mapos this week so as to rest my legs.
Read till three in the morning.
2.6.29 (Sunday) In camp all day.
Read and write. Long letter to Inge and Joachim. Then did Russian and learnt a
great deal, till late in the evening.
3.6.29 (Monday) Stay in the camp.
Boys work on the trench all day. Kanakas from Quassang bring kaikai [food],
enough for about two weeks. News that Baum is in Katumene. Send him a letter.
4.6.29 (Tuesday) Go to Mapos in
the morning. Arrive around midday .
Zavil and Rarak have a fever. Am not feeling too well myself. Baum isn’t coming
till tomorrow.
5.6.29 (Wednesday) Write to Leo in
the morning. Baum arrives around lunch-time. Long talk-talk. He has had no
success in the new area. Got about 60oz. in Surprise Creek.
6.6.29 (Thursday) Sick with
influenza and malaria. Very bad. Hardly see Baum. Treat myself with Plasmochin
and Aspirin. Caught relapse in Salamaua. In bed all day. Four of my boys who
were down [on the coast] with me also have it.
7.6.29 (Friday) Still very sick.
Baum leaves in the morning for Salamaua. Lie in bed all day. Robbi comes and
visits me.
The native workers on the Jilek
There is ‘Djong’: He is terribly
ugly and just as funny. He knows it and is always able to make me laugh. I can
tell if the others have got up to something because Djong will try particularly
hard to be funny.
‘Ghabärgk’ with whom I can never be
angry because he is so consummately beautiful in looks, movements and nature.
He is almost a little too girlish.
‘Girin’ gets terrible stomach
aches every now and again because he wants to eat expensive rice rather than
cheap sweet potatoes. But I have broken the habit with firmness and a good dose
of Epsom Salts. Now the kau-kaus taste okay again.
‘Arung’, my boss-boy and ‘Lunge’
have mumps. I rub them with arnica, for want of anything better, and wrap them
in red lava-lavas so they look like peasant women with a toothache.
‘Boghom’ is a bit crazy and
besides that he is substitute boss-boy. Every now and then he approaches me,
yells ‘Master!!’ at me with a face full of dismay and terror so that I think
there is a lion in the bushes or that something terrible has happened. When I
then ask him what’s up, he keeps on looking at me like that for a while and
then tells me that it is raining or that ‘Zavil’ is coming with the food.
‘Zavil’ is my house-boy, clean,
intelligent, good-looking and practical, bakes good scones and is the friend of
Lump, my dog. The others are not allowed to touch Lump.
‘Nun’ or ‘Non’ is the toad of the
group. He is always singing with a voice unsuitable for that purpose, has a
huge head and even larger eyes and long thin legs. Every now and again he will
sit on the ground next to my bed, look at me for hours with his goggle-eyes and
play on his Jew’s harp.
The same goes for ‘Speer’. The
latter is, by the way, quite Jewish in looks and nature.
Tomorrow ‘Non’ is going to marry
though he is probably less than 17 years old.
Another time I’ll write more
about these interesting types; you can tell, with respect to both looks and
character, down to half a percentage point, how much Mongolian, Malayan,
Semitic (Arab) and Negro blood runs in their veins. ‘Arung’ for instance is
almost pure Mongolian, ‘Girin’ Wahabi or Arab, Djong 80% Negro etc. You can
find almost pure Wahabi types and in the language too I have found surprising
similarities with Arabic and Persian, though I don’t know enough of it yet to
be able to say whether that is just coincidence or whether there really are
connections. I am assuming the latter as the physiognomies also seem to
indicate that. If ‘Ghabärgk’ were white he would be a pure Aryan-Semitic mix.
Up in the mountains the other day
I discovered large and varied cave paintings the origins of which the local kanakas
attribute to Anotu, i. e. God. They are almost certainly of cultural and
historic importance and are amazingly similar to Polynesian paintings. I shall
try to photograph them although it will be quite difficult as one would really
have to stand in mid air to get a good shot from the front. (20.4.29)
The Expedition
Soltwedel and the geologist
arrived in Salamaua a few days ago. In Rabaul, a prospecting company has been
founded whose shareholders or financiers are nearly all Germans. They have
employed a geologist who is very experienced and a very nice person and who is
a Russian on top of that! Up to twelve months prospecting in the interior.
Hired my boys for 2/3s a day, a very high fee, no wages for me, but food,
transport etc. free and the option to invest in the company at any time.
The contract is exceptionally
favourable for me since I have almost no expenses, earn about ₤85 a month and
can put that money into the company if I see that something worthwhile has been
discovered. On top of that, I am free to go along or not and can leave the
expedition at any time. The expedition is ideally put together. Soltwedel is
familiar with the area and the country, the geologist Zakharov with the
minerals, and I, the ‘caravanchi’, the jack of all trades, am responsible for
the boys, the portage etc.
By the way, I have had another
prophetic dream. After receiving the telegram ‘Coming with geologist’ I had an
exact vision of the face of Zakharov and also dreamt that he was a Russian and
that I was conversing with him in Russian. Funny, isn’t it? Zakharov wants to
learn German from Solti, French from me and I Russian from him so that with
Pidgin and the Mapos language, which I speak a little, our scrambling around in
the mountains will be a little like scaling the Tower of Babel. (6.8.29)
After
the expedition has been abandoned
We have really had
extraordinarily bad luck, from start to finish. Quite apart from the fact that
others always arrived ahead of us wherever we went and pegged off good sites in
front of our noses, we had to contend with illness. First: Soltwedel and
Zakharov with dysentery. After they had been cured we went out again with
renewed energy. Soltwedel and Zakharov went ahead to our first destination, the
village of Piaru ten
o’clock . I then buried him on the evening of the same day. (Because
of the heat you always have to do that quickly here.) At 7 pm a messenger
arrived with the news that Baum (the man with whom I went to Mapos earlier) was
in the next village. Next day he arrived. And the following morning he then
left to look after Soltwedel in Piaru. I was going to wait for him in Gareina
and treat myself with castor oil and dieting. But two hours after he left us
the plane that we had ordered arrived, again the little Moth with which I had
flown to Salamaua earlier. It had been booked for Monday but because of bad weather
and storms it did not arrive till Saturday. We first had to improve the drome
for the start and when a heavy storm came up in the afternoon we had to camp
there for another night. We then warmed up the motor in the dark and at first
light flew the one and a half hours to Wau where we landed to regulate
something on the motor. (On the way two cylinders had constantly cut out and
the Moth only has four.) Then after an hour, we took off again for Salamaua and
there I went straight to hospital where Dr Sinclair, who earlier fixed up my
arm, diagnosed severe dysentery (50% blood and 50% mucus), told me I would have
to spend 3-4 weeks in hospital and wouldn’t believe that I had had it for
twenty days and had walked with it for about fifteen of them. After four days
my digestion was quite normal again and after eight days I was discharged as
cured and today I am just as healthy again as I was before. A few days ago, I
sent the plane back to the Waria since I hadn’t had any news of Soltwedel and
heard that Baum was with him. Soltwedel had received the injections and was
quite okay again and would fly out to Wau in a few days time. Hasn’t arrived
yet but I am expecting him any day. ‘Headquarters’ in Rabaul have issued the
order to abandon the expedition and so I have decided to go to Sydney with the Montoro in early April. (26.2.30)
The Murder of Baum
Helmuth Baum, was Ekke’s most
influential mentor in New Guinea. He seemed to have had no enemies. In
consequence, news of his murder in May 1931 which reached Ekke in Berlin sent shock waves
through the colony. Lloyd Rhys (High
Lights and Flights in New Guinea, London, 1942) writes about him in the
following terms:
Helmuth Baum
had an unusual combination of qualities; those of a good business man plus
those of a good bushman and explorer. He was an accountant by profession, and
that he had considerable ability is evidenced by the fact that one of his last
jobs in that capacity was to finalize, alone, the accounts of the German New
Guinea Company, a concern with a capital of about one million pounds. It was
his bush experience, however, that made him renowned throughout New Guinea . He was
only forty-two years of age when he was killed. It is doubtful if any man in
the territory was ever held in greater esteem by both Germans and Australians.
He had some magnetic power that drew people to him, even the natives at his
bush camps were affected by his manner. [...]
Baum was a man
a little over medium height, but broad and strongly built. His gentle manner
and softly spoken voice seemed to intensify a natural shyness, for long years
of lonely travel had made him very much of a recluse [...] Yet there was
nothing secretive or avaricious about his working, for when a man came to his
camp he was as generous as any. He would give food and clothing that could be
ill spared. He helped many a destitute miner with ground, supplies and boys.
His hospitality was spoken of on all the fields. [...]
For all his
shyness, Baum, during contact with his fellow men, enjoyed their company and
they seemed to enjoy his. Once the bond of friendship was formed, his keen
sense of humour made him a jolly companion and he endeared himself by his
generous nature which made him believe in the good in every man. He was a
super-optimist and believed in the kindliness and goodness of his fellows,
qualities which he possessed himself and which he could never realize that
others did not possess also. Like many another such optimist his simple faith
kept him poor all his life, and many of those whom he helped later let him down
when they themselves had arrived at a more prosperous state. [...]
All through the
country Baum had a good name among the natives. Everywhere he went his
correctness and honesty in dealing with them became his password. He would never
accept any presents, and if he had to take food from a deserted village he
always left ample payment in trade goods in some conspicuous place. Should a
casual labourer or carrier break his promise or run away before the completion
of an arranged task, Baum would send payment to him for such work as had been
done. He was always friendly and honest with them, but any attempt at
familiarity was firmly and promptly dealt with. [...]
Wherever he
went he carried with him a small tin of mixed seeds which he collected
personally. At each camp he would plant a few, thus leaving his trail, not as
so many have done by ring-barked trees and scarred, torn timber, but by a new
and luxurious growth of flower and fruit.(98-102)[1]
The young Australian Mick Leahy
was one of the men Baum helped. Mick and a companion encountered Baum on their
return from Edie Creek when Mick had just lost his lease due to lack of funds.
After providing the down-and-out men with hospitality, Baum offered Mick a job
supervising a claim he had pegged on the Upper Wattut .
In his biography of Mick’s brother Dan, Kuni
Dan, John Fowke writes of Baum:
Helmuth Baum
was almost a legend among the prospecting fraternity of New Guinea . A
cultured man of German origin he had spent most of his life in New Guinea,
having been a trader and coconut planter for years before the Australian
invasion in 1914. In the early twenties he had been a leader in the vanguard of
gold prospectors in the Morobe District.
Baum had made
many trips into uncontrolled country. His Spartan lifestyle whilst on these
trips, the comparative luxury, even splendour, of his camp when not, and the
good relationship he enjoyed with his native employees and the local people
wherever he went, set him apart. (24/25)[1]
Mick Leahy, who suffered a near
fatal attack by Kukakuka natives at about the same time Baum was murdered,
gives the following account of the event in his biography Exploration into Highland New Guinea, 1930-1935:
We were also
shocked to hear from Sanson that my good friend Helmuth Baum had been murdered
by the Kukakukas and most of his boys butchered with him. [...]
The
cold-blooded murder of Baum, the cannibalistic devouring of his decapitated
body, and the callous and determined hunting down and hacking to death of most
of his unarmed and very timid Buang carriers shocked me into the realization
that perhaps the so-called experts regarding primitive man’s reactions were
suffering from too much purely academic knowledge. Some of these experts had
apparently never encountered a primitive savage in his natural element and did
not know that he would suspect any strange two-legged human of being an enemy
just waiting to murder a native and his people. [...]
Baum was an
idealist about the natives. He carried a couple of shot-guns with which to
shoot game for his boys and himself but never allowed his boys to keep a gun in
their leaf-covered lean-tos when they camped. He was quite sure that the noble
savage would never attack him without provocation. He scrupulously paid for all
foodstuffs or services in trade or steel, and in these isolated areas any trade
was many times the value of food for a few boys, if indeed there was such a
notion of relative values for such unrelated barter articles in New Guinea ’s
remote ranges.
According to
the natives, Baum’s party had been visited by a few Kukas late in the evening
when they were building their camps beside a fast-running mountain stream in
the bush-covered ranges. The natives had stayed on until near dark. After
telling Baum in sign language that they would bring him some native foodstuffs
the next day, they faded into the bush along a faint pad recognizable from the
bent-over bushes.
Baum’s sleeping
arrangement under his eight-by-ten-foot fly was a narrow bed of thin sticks
rigged onto the forked saplings holding up the ridgepole of his tent. A piece
of canvas for a mattress and his single blanket were all the bed he ever
carried. His boys built their open-sided lean-tos from moss-covered saplings.
... Baum stowed all his trade, steel knives, and tomahawks, together with his
shotguns and cartridges, under his sapling bed before he went to sleep. His
confidence in the natives’ integrity and goodwill was beyond question. Just at
daylight he awoke to find a few Kukas holding small bilums (net carrying bags)
of sweet potatoes and waiting at the foot of his bed to barter for beads. These
Kukas at the foot of his bed distracted his attention for long enough to enable
another Kuka, waiting at the other end of his bed, to bring his stone pineapple
club down on Baum’s head before he could rise. The killer then picked up one of
Baum’s long trade knives and hacked off his head. In the meantime, the
ambushers had closed in on the carriers and clubbed or shot arrows into the now
panicked and fleeing Buang boys. A few escaped into the surrounding bush. Had
it not been for the irresistible attraction of looting Baum’s camp, not one of
them would ever have reached a police post in Bulolo to report the incident.
District
officer Eric Feldt and patrol officer Nick Penglase spent three weeks tracking
down and bringing in the murderers. Their effort involved travel, hardship, and
tenacity of purpose equal to any recorded for law enforcement in any part of
the world. The murderers were not hanged. They served a term of imprisonment –
the first stage in primitive man’s introduction to law and order. Baum’s body
was never found. Only recently [early 1960s] I talked to an old Buang native
whose claim to have been in Baum’s party may have reflected his anticipation of
remuneration for his hearsay account. He was emphatic that Baum had been eaten.
The body, according to this informant, had been cut up into small pieces and
cooked in short lengths of bamboo which were carried back to the villages to
the women and children. Some parts had just been thrown onto hot coals and
eaten on the spot half raw. (42-44) [1]
For Ekke the shock of Baum’s
murder was perhaps even greater than for Mick, for he had not only lost an exceptional friend but,
according to first accounts, also twelve of his boys. Ekke had written to Baum
just a few days before his death to thank him for a far too generous payment
for trade goods left in Mapos which Baum had taken over. After receiving
Soltwedel’s telegram he wrote to Burggraf in Sydney :
I just want to
inform you by this post that I have received a terrible telegram from New Guinea .
Baum has been murdered by Wattut kanakas at Surprise Creek or the Odibanda with
twelve boys. I have seldom been so shocked by any news. Just recently I had
received a short letter from him, saying that he was working at Surprise Creek,
had already retrieved the costs of his last expedition and was beginning to
make a profit. You will remember that he took over all my boys and he wrote
that he had divided the twenty-four of them up between himself and Schmidtburgk
who was working at Roaring Creek or the Weganda. Schmidtburgk had Beak as his
boss boy and Baum Zavil. The latter is presumably also among the slain. Baum
paid Naie off and he is now working under another master at Edie Creek. So he
is not among them. I cannot tell which of the other boys was there but presume
that Mock was because he had earlier worked with Baum before he came to me.
The only way I
can think of to explain what happened is that a certain Fordyce whom I also
know, who still owes me several pounds and who is a real swine and constantly
had trouble with the natives when we were in Mapos, is responsible. Soltwedel
wrote to me that he was on the Irua, a neighbouring river to the Surprise and
is supposed to have found ‘lumps of gold’ there. He must have committed
improprieties against the kanakas which were not reported as the Wattut kanakas
are not under control; and now the kanakas have taken revenge on the next best
white man. For Baum could handle the kanakas better than anyone else and had
long been familiar with the Wattut people who all had great respect for him.
Anyway, that is how it seemed to us when they mentioned his name and showed the
iron implements they had received from him.
Apparently
Soltwedel wants to go and avenge Baum for he telegraphed at the same time about
Bergmann rifles which are light machine guns that take about thirty cartridges
of the same variety you use for Mauser pistols. I will send him a prospectus of
what is on offer but he should keep out of it as the government is bound to get
him for murder. But I can understand him and would probably be the first to
commit such foolishness were I there. On the other hand, one can never get the
fellows, only burn down their houses and destroy their gardens.
Poor Baum, he
was over there for twenty years, trying to earn money to return home one day,
has made a greater contribution to the opening up of the country than anyone
else and in the end had to succumb in a place no one would have anticipated.
(5.5.1931)
There is no record whether Ekke
ever found out which of his boys had been killed. A report in the Salamaua News claims that eight of the
presumably twelve boys, including ‘the little cook-boy’ (Naie?), who was
apparently back with Baum, survived the attack.
Germany
during the Great Depression of the early thirties
First, the impossibility of
gaining professional employment or even a minimally lucrative position in spite
of all my vigorous attempts and in spite of drawing on all the connections that
I could muster. Eventually you just give up the search. You tell yourself:
there is simply nothing that can be done at the moment; you just have to wait
till the times change and you are needed again somewhere. And then when you
realize that it isn’t your fault but the result of circumstances in Germany and
in the world, you overcome the inferiority complex that has gradually developed
and begin to face up to yourself once more.
The recognition that this wasn’t happening only to me but to thousands
upon thousands of young German fellows, however capable, was a reassurance and
this way you quite naturally began to concern yourself with politics. You told
yourself that somewhere in the old economic and social order there must be a
massive error in calculation if it was possible that the hands of so many good
and willing workers lay idle and that the knowledge and the competence of
hundreds of thousands of academically trained young people was of no use, since
they were in no position to apply it, be it for the benefit of society or to
earn their own meagre
living. And the more you studied matters related to these problems, the more
you realized how incompetent the responsible groups in Germany and the
world were proving, the clearer it became that the old economic and political
system will never manage to deal with the crisis, neither in Germany nor in
the rest of the world. It became ever more obvious that capitalism and
imperialism in their current forms have failed, that the liberalism of the last
150 years has come to an end, and that something completely new must now begin.
– So it came about that you turned to the radical movements in Germany, those
inspired by some kind of idealism, and there searched for a way out of the
great common emergency of the German people and attempted to envisage an image
of the future there. For in the end it is Germany , and Germany alone,
with everything that is a part of this concept, the body as well as the soul of
the German national and cultural complex, that you were looking for and that
concerned you and that we want to save from complete destruction, slavery and
alienation. - There are people in Germany and,
still more, out in the world, who believe that the crisis is a temporary
breakdown in the machinery of the world economy of the kind that has occurred
time and again. But those that look closely will recognize that this is the end
and the dissolution of a whole epoch of history and that the many intellectual,
political and religious movements and passions are the birth pangs of a new
epoch. Only once you have realized that, is it possible to approach things
appropriately and fit the individual symptoms and movements meaningfully into
the overriding current that determines the direction of our times. (9.8.1932)
Expulsion from Germany because of Black Front activities
Very nearly the business of my
departure would have gone wrong after all. I couldn’t bear the thought of going
away for so long without talking to my comrades first. So I drove out to
Brandenburg eight days before the steamer was due to leave and with great
difficulty and many words managed to persuade the commandant of the
concentration camp to allow me to speak to two men at least, although that
contravened all the rules of the camp. I then spoke for more than half an hour
with Brinkmann, the man who was arrested in my presence in Leba some months
back, and with Kübler. Of course it was in the presence of SS-men. We didn’t
speak about politics at all. But Brinkmann informed me that all the fellows had
signed a declaration promising not to be politically active once released and
to disassociate themselves from Otto Strasser’s political activity abroad. They
hope that will accelerate their release. But as yet nothing has happened. – I
had undertaken this visit without the knowledge of the political police. Next
day, however, they were already informed and I was summoned by my ‘friend’ once
more. He intended to have me imprisoned in spite of the exit permit I had
already obtained and also to finish off the commandant. After talking for two
hours and using all the psychology at my disposal, I finally managed to reach a
point where he said that he would close both eyes, I was to make tracks as
quickly as possible and he would also spare the commandant. The commandant, who
heard about this, said that he was stronger than my ‘friend’, who had no means
of hurting him; about this I was particularly glad because our fellows are
treated exceptionally well under this commandant. So everything worked out after
all, I could say good-bye to my mates and nobody was the worse for it. The
fellows were extremely happy about my visit and I have a good conscience having
fulfilled a comradely duty and now know that I am not begrudged my ‘luck’, on
the contrary. So that’s that.
The departure from Germany went
without incident. Irmhild accompanied me to the boat in Bremen . We had left a day early and spent a
very nice day out in Worpswede with my friend Manfred Hausmann where we also
spent the night. Manfred and his wife then drove us to the ship next morning
but upon my request did not wait for its departure since Irmhild was finding
the farewell quite difficult and it always takes an eternity before a ship like
that actually leaves. (Needless to say, the farewell from Irmhild was quite
difficult for me too.) Before I left, Irmhild and I were unofficially engaged,
to be precise, a fortnight before. Mama and Gerda are very happy about it as
they are both quite fond of Irmhild. Irmhild’s family too, you will remember
that I met them on my trip to the Eifel, approve and I have received a lovely
letter from Mrs von Koch in which she writes that she could not imagine a
son-in-law for Irmhild who would be dearer to her. I assume that you too are
content with having Irmhild as a future daughter-in-law. The next step is to
create a financial basis that will make it possible for us to marry at the
earliest possible time. I hope that will soon be possible here, if not in
America, then somewhere else. Please write and tell me your thoughts, I mean
about my engagement to Irmhild. (20.12.1933)
From
Los Angeles
America is a real experience for
me. I have now recognised that you cannot know a country without having seen it
and lived in it for a time. But I have realised one thing: There is no such
thing as an American people. There are white people, among them Englishmen,
Germans, Scandinavians, there are Italians, Mexicans, Spaniards, Negroes and
Half-castes. They may all live under the same laws, on one and the same soil,
but they do not relate to each other. A community, like in Germany , could never be achieved,
as no ties of blood or historical or emotional bonds exist between people. The
law of the jungle (speaking symbolically) rules. Laws are weaker than money and
connections, and people consider the country as a hunting ground on which
everyone is allowed to hunt to the extent that he can hold his own against the
others and his surroundings. If he perishes no one cares. The white man says, what concern of mine is
the Negro, the Jew says, what concern of mine is the American or America .
It is the laws and the life-style of the Wild West transferred to modern
society. I underestimated the
lawlessness, the corruption in all official places, and the power of money. The
Americans speak of a depression. But in spite of that, the average American is
more affluent than the most well-to-do in Germany . The standard of living is
many times higher than in Germany .
The differences between rich and poor are sometimes quite horrifying. But
nobody really concerns himself with them. What business of mine is the Negro or
the Italian, says the affluent bourgeois, and the mass of the poor is comprised
of all races and peoples, and since there are no ties of race or blood here
they don’t support each other and a revolution is a total impossibility. Even
if America were worse off
than Germany
was a few years ago, a revolution would never be possible. If something
decisive were to happen here, it could only come from the direction of the
President. [...] For the USA is completely in the hands of the great powerful
hunters, the bankers and capitalists, and they will see to it that their
hunting grounds are not converted to agricultural land. It is funny: as though
the spirit of the old Indians still hovered over the land. (4.12.1933)
The Trip to California
Melville, the agent, travelled
with us to Champerico and so I had the opportunity to talk with him a lot and
to hear a good deal that was quite fascinating. According to all I heard,
Guatemala is by far the most interesting country among all these small Central
American states, with the exception perhaps of Mexico. Among other things
Melville told me:
In the north-western corner,
between the settlement of Flores and the Mexican border there are high
mountains in which pure-blooded Indian tribes live who have to this day never
allowed themselves to be subordinated, into whose lands no white man has
penetrated, or at least from which none has come back alive. The country there
is very inaccessible and can only be reached through deep gorges. The Indians,
however, have erected strongholds and fortifications, of course of a primitive
kind, in all the places where it might be possible to enter and, as a result of
the natural features of the place, these are so easy to defend that they were
able to hold their own against the fire-power of the white man with only their
simple weapons, bow and arrow etc. The men are supposed to be very tall, not of
the small race of the other Indians that you see elsewhere in the country.
Another story: A generation ago
an eccentric Scotchman lived in Guatemala: A man from a good family, educated,
but given to drink. He was sent out by a well-known British writer for whom he
was to collect material for a book about the Spanish invasion of Guatemala. He
did deliver the material but ended up staying in the country and eventually
lived with the Indians, just like an Indian. He could speak all their languages
and dialects, dressed as they did and had shed all the habits of a European. He
knew a little about medicine and one day when he had saved the life of an
Indian by means of his skills, the Indian said to him that, in gratitude, he
wanted to show him something that no European had seen for many hundreds of
years and no European would see without being killed by the Indians. They then
travelled through the deepest jungles for many weeks and apparently came into
the territory of the above mentioned Indians. And there the Indian showed him
the entrance to a gold mine. At the entrance to the tunnel a depiction of the
sun and the moon was hewn into the rock and in the passages there were still
the haulage boxes full of gold ore as though the mine had been closed only
yesterday. But outside everything was overgrown with jungle. The Indian then told
him that so and so many years or generations ago, according to the calculations
of the Scotchman around the sixteenth century, this mine had been exploited by
Jesuits. However, since the monks were very harsh and cruel towards the Indian
workers they were all murdered in a single night, the Nocte Triste, and the
king of the Indians at the time placed a ban on the mine, according to which a
certain tribe had to see to it that no white man would ever set foot in the
mine again or leave it alive. Up to now that has been carried out with the
exception of the Scotchman who had been accepted by the Indians as their equal.
– The Scotchman who was a friend of Melville’s father, recorded this
experience, also roughly the way to the mine and when he died he left these
notes to Melville’s father. As a man of sober thinking the latter naturally
thought that they were a fantasy conjured up by delirium tremens, the illness
from which the Scotchman actually died. Eventually, however, he looked at the
old records that are in the hands of the government and found in them a report
about a mine called “To the Sun and the Moon”. The murder of the Jesuits and
the approximate year also coincided with the report of the Scotchman. – I asked
Melville why nobody so far had tried to get back to it. He told me that the
existence of the mine had been forgotten, no one whom he had asked had known
about it and that he himself had not yet found the money or, to be honest, the
courage to go there. He was of the opinion that it would only be possible to
find the mine, which was completely overgrown by jungle, with the help of
natives who knew the secret. But that would require living with them for years,
studying their language, and even then it would be a gamble if one ended up
finding it or coming out alive. He was willing to give me all the details if I
wanted to try. But where would you get the money? I would absolutely love to do
it. The direction which the Scotchman indicated also suggests that the
goldfields being worked in Guatemala receive their gold from that reef, for
what is mined on them is alluvial gold and not reef gold.
Melville then went on to tell
about the conquest of this country by the Spaniards. Even though I have read
about it many times, it left a huge impression on me hearing about it here
where it all happened. I will never forget these days on the coast of
Guatemala. I don’t think there has ever been a country I have seen from the
coast that has had such a magical attraction for me. All I could do all day was
stand at the railing and gaze into the volcanic world of the coastal range and
my yearning took off with me in a hitherto unknown way. I would never have
thought that Central America could have such an unbelievable interest and
attraction for me. I don’t think my longing to penetrate into the interior of
New Guinea was as overwhelming as here. In the evening a calming haze of cloud
settled over the mountains and soon the night enveloped the land in mysterious
darkness. Only a few faint lights glowed over through the dark from Champerico,
before which we lay at anchor. We didn’t sleep much that night. It was one o’clock
before we got to bed too. I drank a few more beers with Melville which went
down easily in the heat that did not let up at night either. The fellow was one
of the most intelligent and interesting Englishmen I have ever come
across.
On Saturday we cut across to Cape
San Lucas on the Californian Peninsula. On the port side we passed an
interesting little island, St. Thomas or Scorro Island, belonging to Mexico.
According to the nautical handbook it is uninhabited, is of volcanic origin and
sparsely vegetated. In the main, an edible bean, prickly pear and a bit of
scrub. Is supposed to have a wealth of snakes of quite considerable length and
there are apparently also goats there. The story of these goats is the
following, told to me by Melville: A European and his wife and a friend decided
to go to the island by ship in order to raise goats there. They took a few
goats with them as a start. On the island they found the conditions favourable
for breeding goats and the couple decided to stay there while their friend was
to go back to Mexico and buy all they needed to support themselves. Luck would
have it that on arrival in Mexico the friend suffered a stroke and died before
he could say a word. At the time, the revolution had just started and the
Mexican crew scattered in all directions. Now there was no longer anyone about
who knew of the existence of the couple on the island. They kept on waiting for
the return of their friend and survived on goat’s milk, fish, crabs and beans.
It was a year and a half later before one of the Mexican sailors remembered
that the two white people must still be out there. He reported it to the
government who in good time sent out a ship. The couple was found healthy and
content; apparently they didn’t really want to come back. A little contemporary
Robinsonade.
Last night we saw Cape San Lucas
but only the light. Today Margarita. The Bay of Magdalene which lies behind it
is supposed to have been leased from the Mexican authorities by the Japanese,
for 99 years, apparently to establish a whaling station there. In reality,
however, it is rumoured to be of military importance as the bay could harbour
the entire Japanese fleet, moreover protected from shellfire from the sea. It
is said that large tanks are being built there to supply the Japanese fleet
with oil. What is true about this, is not known.
Here on this coast there is an
unbelievable wealth of marine life. Standing on one side of the ship we counted
over sixty sharks, large enough to attack a man, in the course of two hours.
Some of them were so close to the ship that you could distinguish the entire
body in the water. They were blue sharks and hammerheads. There were tortoises
in their thousands. I counted several hundred in the same space of time. We
then saw about ten seals, a whale and, in the morning, a pod of thirty
porpoises. Not to mention the small fry like flying fishes and swordfish. Even
the Captain said he had never seen so many sharks and tortoises all at once.
In the afternoon there was a very
strange atmosphere and around four o’clock the island near the Bay of Magdalene
could be seen upside down as a mirage. Sometimes looked like an aircraft
carrier, sometimes like Heligoland and then again like an Egyptian pyramid.
Then a little owl flew up. He
settled down in the anchor coil and couldn’t see me. I snuk up again and could
have caught him with my hand. But he sat with his head turned towards me and I
still have the scar where the other bird [Doeskopp] bit me. I wanted to wait
till he turned around but he didn’t. Suddenly he stuck out his head and looked
me straight in the eye. I sat quietly and in this way we stared at each other
for five minutes. He had beautiful, large, yellow-green eyes with large pupils
and very long legs for his short squat body. Eventually I got pins and needles
in my leg and moved and the little fellow flew off astern. (14.11.33)
Los Angeles
Got off in Main Street and walked around the central
district for about two hours. What one could see in the way of types and people
is impossible to describe. In Main Street terrible poverty with people of all
colours, in Broadway, two streets on, the height of elegance. And above all
this lights, spotlights and light again. Every few steps a cinema, with a crier
in front of it, innumerable coffee shops, drug stores, boot cleaners,
hair-dressers, and the devil only knows what else. And the shops all open
though it was almost eleven o’clock. And who was having their boots cleaned and
their hair cut: People whose boots were falling apart, men in suits so
disreputable that there seemed little point in having a haircut to go with
them. And people from every country. On one corner a fat Negress stood on a chair
and preached “the gospel” loudly and with terribly funny logic. Around her were
the faces of the faithful listening reverently and in conclusion a typically
Negro psalm was sung. However, there were hardly any Negros comprising the
audience but white people and some so well dressed and with such intelligent
faces that they could easily pass for bank managers in Berlin. (Which doesn’t
mean to say that Berlin bank managers have particularly intelligent faces.) A
fat Negress preaching to reverently listening white people, just imagine
something like that in Germany. Opposite there was another preacher with a big
audience (and all this on the street): He was saying something about vibrations
and if the vibrations of a person did not match the vibrations of the place he
could never be successful. ... There was a church where one could see amusing
films, for nothing of course, otherwise no one would go to church. Then after
Mary Pickford has done her dash on the screen, it is the minister’s turn to
tell something about Jesus Christ. There is a narrow little street going off
the Plaza which is supposedly the oldest in Los Angeles. Only Mexicans live
there and sell self-made kitsch, like at a fair. I saw practically nothing
worth buying. But there was a little restaurant there in which an old man
played the harp and another the mandolin and they sometimes sang. That seems to
have been genuine. Anyway the music was beautiful and interesting. But I only
listened from the road. I then had some dinner at another restaurant where you
took a tray and served yourself and then I raced back home at the speed of an
express in the red city train. The impressions of this evening were so varied
that I can only describe a few, a very few. But America is certainly
interesting. More interesting than I thought. What is most noticeable is the
incongruence of rich and poor, of fairy-tale riches and quite horrifying
poverty. “Something must be done about it”, says Dr. Schiffbauer.
A reception for a football match; 100 people. The host is filthy
rich, filthy thrice underlined, and is supposed to have earned his money in
true American fashion, as Hans told me, with “speak-easies” (under-cover bars)
and not always in accordance with the law. But here you have to be cleverer
than the law, then everything is alright, and that’s how it was. The court of
law before which he once stood couldn’t prove anything.” The house, “gilded
taps in the bathroom, ceilings with beautifully carved beams, valuable, very
beautiful furniture and a bedroom so huge that it would have made sense to have
motorized transport between the beds.... A butler in tuxedo with white gloves,
a Negress clad in white, a Japanese and
a Chinese man served at table. It was an exquisite meal ...” These people are
complete autocrats. They can buy anything for their money and also buy
themselves off anything. For these people there are really no laws and they and
those greater than them rule America through the media and their money, and all
the officials, the police and the politicians (apparently with the exception of
Roosevelt) are their paid agents. Funny country America. Imagine this sort of
thing in Germany. They would all be in camps and serve them right. For here the
reverse motto rules: selfishness before public-mindedness and whoever has money
has power and respect no matter whether it has been “earned” through shady
deals. You just mustn’t get caught. ...Those that do get caught are stupid and
all America is outraged about this criminal.
Just recently two murderers who had kidnapped a young man and then
killed him were taken out of their prison in San Francisco and publicly hanged
in a park: The first lynching for eight years in California. A certain
Rosenberg, a lawyer, who had intended to defend the fellows and looked forward
to earning fame and a huge sum of money through the trial, sees his business
interests damaged as a result. And since the Governor of California said that
he was in agreement with the lynching (though not quite so openly) Rosenberg
intends to sue the Governor for a million dollars compensation since his
remarks before the lynching are supposed to have encouraged this. You make
money from everything here. – By the way, all the papers are full of the pros
and cons of lynching. But I think that the greater part of America is in
agreement with the lynching of the murderers, particularly as the court case
and the possible execution would have cost the state over $100,000. A woman
probably hit the nail on the head when she said: If America had just and sensible
laws and an impeccable court system the mob would have no need to resort to
lynch justice. As it is, the people look after their own rights. However much I
condemn lynch justice, she has a point. It is basically the same attitude
whether an individual makes his money in contravention of the law or whether
the people pronounce justice in contravention of the law. That all goes back to
the time of the Wild West where it was every man for himself and the law of the
jungle prevailed along with a ruthless lack of consideration. It is also a
result of the mix of peoples here. People really don’t see themselves as a
unified nation and it is just impossible for a sense of community to arise
between all these different races.
The Story of Heinrich Brenn (formerly gardener in Hunters Hill)
And now for the most fantastic
experience I have had here so far. When the doorbell rang it was Brenn who
looked exactly as he had in Australia in 1909. I would have recognised him on
the street. He seemed to me to have become smaller, but not at all older. He
has the round head of a peasant, amazingly taut features, worn down front
teeth, and a colossally stocky muscular body. You have the feeling as though
the fellow is hard as rock. “That’s him”, he said in a deep calm voice and gave
me his four-fingered hand. The index finger had been literally bitten off by a
Finn during a life and death fight on the gold fields of Arizona which lasted
two hours. The Finn had gone mad and was frothing at the mouth during the
attack. Brenn could have killed him but had enough presence of mind merely to
shackle him since he had no witnesses. He told me about this on the drive to
San Pedro. He first took a long look at me and then said objectively as though
he were examining a cow and had finally decided to buy it: “You’ve become a
fine fellow.” .... And then I had to get into his car straight away and drive
out to San Pedro where he is digging for the pirate’s treasure, 800 million! He
had an old Chevrolet limousine and a pile of stuff loaded up in the back. On
the way he told me about his project. For three months he and two others have
been digging to raise a treasure which pirates are supposed to have buried even
before the days of the Spaniards. “And how do people know that the treasure is
in that particular spot and how much there is?” I asked somewhat sceptically.
It was handed down from family to family. And how do you know that you aren’t
the victim of a massive fraud? That is not a fraud, said Brenn. The other two
are also helping with the work and have already invested all their money in the
venture. “And do you think you will really find the treasure?” “That’s a
gamble,” said Brenn. “When you go prospecting to look for gold then that’s a
gamble too, and not a bigger one than this. And this is a big gamble too,” said
Brenn, pointing to the oil towers through which we were driving and behind
which the sun was setting blood red. “More money has been invested in this than
has ever been pumped out and in the entire United States more money has been
invested in prospecting than was ever retrieved in gold and other substances.
You have to gamble a bit, sometimes you score a hit, sometimes you miss. The
whole of life is a gamble.” Eventually we turned off the main road and drove
through a fairly fractured hilly landscape through which the road wound like a
snake, sometimes far down in the ravine, sometimes high up on the ridge from
where one had a magnificent view over the ocean and over the countless lights
of San Pedro. The sunset was grand, in the ravines it was darkest night while
on the open ridge roads an unreal reddish light cast a strange luminousness
over the district. The whole area was so wildly romantic and so grand in its
combination of sea and mountains, that it seemed to me the very place where you
would expect pirates, highwaymen and other strange eccentrics. Soon we were
close to the sea and suddenly the track dropped steeply down to the ocean. Then
we had arrived. It was a small bay with precipitous rocks that cast a
pitch-black shadow onto us. Beside it the ocean surged with monotonous roar.
Everything was black and no light to be seen anywhere. Brenn had erected his
tent so that it lent against the steep slope and not far from it stood a
dilapidated house. Brenn pointed upward: “Here in this mountain lies the
treasure. We’ll go up in a minute.” He gave me a candle and led the way, also
equipped with a candle. We climbed up the mountain steeply, soon had to
scramble with hands and feet, then came to a very narrow trail. It was pitch-dark
and our two lights which flickered slightly in the complete windlessness must
have looked like two jack o’lanterns or will-o’-the wisps. “Careful,” said
Brenn at a spot where the path led narrowly around a ledge of rock. “If you
fall down here you are dead.” I had no trouble getting around it and finally we
stood at the entrance of a black hole. Brenn went ahead with his candle. In the
faint glow I could see that it was a regular shaft hewn through the rock, high
enough that I could just stand slightly bent. On and on we went into the
interior of the mountain, Brenn leading the way without uttering a word. There
was a spot where the ceiling had caved in and had been supported by a huge
board which Brenn had fished out of the ocean swimming. In some places water
dripped, in others it smelt of sulphur, at times strongly of oil. When we had
gone in for about sixty meters the shaft divided into two. One soon ended, the
other veered a little to the left. “I first thought this was where the treasure
was. But it’s more to the left.” The left shaft then went on for another thirty
or forty meters and at last we had come to the end. Brenn pointed in the
direction of the extension of the shaft. “Another ten or twelve meters on,
that’s where it is bound to be.” He took out a pendulum, held it very still and
finally it began to swing strongly in that direction. It was a weight
containing mercury hanging from a string. He made me try too but it didn’t move
at all for me. Here at the end the shaft
had passed through the rock and was in firm but not rocky earth. “Now it will
be quick,” said Brenn. “Another ten days and we’ll be in the cave.” I couldn’t
understand why he had to dig through a mountain of solid rock in order to
eventually come to a cave. But he explained it to me. The entrance to the cave
had originally been on the other side of the mountain, but was now completely
buried, that was why he had to choose the way through the hard rock. Also his
partners did not want to have to dig through the bones which are supposed to
lie there. Such bones always stood in relation to such a buried treasure and if
you disturbed them it could have dire consequences. I asked how he knew there
were bones. He said that too had been passed down from family to family. I
examined the rock to the extent that was possible in the dark. The ground at
the end of the tunnel was fatty as though drenched with oil. The rock in the
first part was, I presumed, chalky slate, sometimes it looked like talcum,
sometimes like gypsum. Took a few specimens along. Back at the entrance we
could hear the ocean roar, saw several lights from ships and in the distance
the lights of Catalina Island. Then we were back to the dangerous scramble
downwards. Back at the tent, Brenn unloaded all the stuff from the car into his
tent in which there was a huge mess: A box of apples, one of pears, one of
grapes, a large Swiss cheese, bread and a few other provisions for the week.
Then we drank homebrew from the bottle and back we drove through the
pitch-black mountains to Los Angeles. On the way, in Inglewood, we visited a
strange little German whom Brenn made the offer to participate but who didn’t
want to. He had no confidence in the venture. A smart little Swabian. For the
next hour he then recounted all his war experiences and was so engrossed that
it was impossible to interrupt him even though Brenn and I were keen to leave.
We had drummed him out of bed and as sleepy as he had been to start off , as
wide awake he became during his story-telling. On leaving Brenn said: “So you
don’t want to?” The Swabian said no with slight embarrassment. “I don’t need
you,” said Brenn. “Only wanted to give you the chance. You can earn $25,000 in
eight days. But if you don’t want to... just don’t say afterwards that I didn’t
give you the chance.” Finally, we arrived back home around midnight. Brenn then
drove back alone all the way to his workplace to start digging again at sunrise
next morning.
The story of Brenn ends with an extraordinary twist of fate. A little
more than a year after he abandoned his search, the treasure was found on an
island a bit further south by a Mexican boy who was scooping away sand to make
a fire-place. It consisted of two million dollars worth of gold ducats and
doubloons, a true pirate’s treasure.
The
1938 Emergency during the Beinssen’s trip to Germany
There is a long letter from Ekke written on 2 October on board the M.S.
Sibajak in Marseilles, describing the family’s departure from Germany.
I will now have to begin to tell
you the story of our amazing departure [....]All Wednesday we changed our minds
about a dozen times, should we or shouldn’t we leave. Father von Koch rang in
the morning and advised against it, Father Beinssen was for it, Mr Solte rang
from Bremen
and advised neither for nor against. Then Father von Koch rang again and
advised us to go. In the meantime we were glued to the radio instead of
packing, listening to the news, suddenly decided to go, packed feverishly till
the next news came when we stopped again. [...] Now Irmhild wanted to know
definitely whether we were going or not. Okay, Irmhild, let’s definitely give
up. We are not going. Half an hour later the customs officer arrives. I give
him two marks and send him off again. He has hardly left when Mr Solte rings
and gives us the news that a four powers conference has been arranged and mobilisation has been
postponed for 24 hours. That was around five
o’clock in the evening. We then also heard the news direct from England .
But now it was too late. The customs officer couldn’t be called back. In the
meantime, Irmhild had unpacked again and repacked for a trip to Scheibleck. [...] At eleven, Father rang
from Zurich and
advised us to go all the same. He couldn’t understand that it was now
impossible and seemed rather annoyed. We then went to bed. At seven in the
morning, I woke with the feeling of a man who desperately runs for five blocks
in order to catch the tram after all. Irmhild co-operated and Gisela, Mother
and the other inhabitants of the house thought we were stark raving mad. Irmhild
and Gisela packed feverishly. I inquired about trains that could reach the boat
train in Paris ,
ordered a vehicle and at the same time warned the customs officers at
headquarters. [...] At 10 am
Irmhild had finished packing and the cases were on the vehicle on their way to
the customs office. My attempts to persuade the customs officers to finish
their investigation in a bare hour if it was to be of any use at all ran
aground on their sense of duty. Every suitcase, even the typewriter, every
book, every tin of baby formula was opened, all the pockets of my neatly packed
suits were checked, and all with a deadly slowness that put you in a cold
sweat. In between, I was given lectures that an examination of this sort has to
be booked three days in advance. At twelve, they had convinced themselves that
I was not a foreign exchange trafficker. When I then remarked or rather, dared
to remark, that I had given them a sworn declaration to this effect at the very
start and they could have saved themselves the trouble, they looked as though
they would start all over again. I therefore hurriedly thanked them profusely
for their obliging behaviour
and the understanding they had shown for the fact that I had now missed my tram
to Australia ,
quickly threw the things back into the car and rushed to the station. The
official there had obviously had a day off when they were taught how to check
in baggage to Marseilles
for he took almost half an hour. It was just before one by the time the
calculation had been done (in Paris it then
emerged that it was wrong after all) and the other travellers to Australia were already arriving
with Mother and Fritzchen,
in two cars laden with the remaining hand luggage (twelve small pieces).
Everyone who had come took off for Cologne ,
I with the heavy load of twelve large cases and just as many small ones on my
mind, Irmhild and Gisela in silent resignation, Silke and Uwe both full of
enthusiasm. We would have had only seven minutes in Cologne
to transfer to the train for Paris
and it would have been quite impossible to reload the big cases in that time.
Fortunately Mother had discovered in the timetable that there was a better
train, namely one that left Cologne half an hour
later and arrived in Paris
two hours earlier. With the first, we would have had to take everything from
the Gare du Nord to the Gare de Lyon in half an hour; as it was, we had two and
a half hours time. There was hope again. [...] In Aachen there was the German currency control
and the passport control which, amazingly, went well and without a hitch. But I
still had to sacrifice thirty Registermark
on the altar of the fatherland. The Belgian check in Herbesthal also went
smoothly. Behind the border all the bridges and tunnels were occupied by troops with machine guns, anti-aircraft
guns etc. and everywhere on the streets you saw troops marching to the border.
Troop trains were also constantly passing us. In Charleroi , French officials then boarded the
train. That too went smoothly. We were due in Paris at half past nine . In Charleroi
we discovered that we were an hour and a half late, probably due to the troop
transports. We then didn’t arrive till 11
pm . From Elberfeld I had rung the Rotterdam Lloyd who informed me
that the passages were still available in spite of my cancellation and who
promised to send the Paris
agent to the train there. [...] The Paris
customs officials were not what you would call fast but they were like lightning compared with
those in Wuppertal .
Half an hour before the departure of the boat train we were done; we piled
everything high onto an automobile and swayed to the other station past the
Bastille and through streets that had been completely blacked out against
air-raids. There the luggage had to be checked in once again and I again had to
pay a huge sum even though I had already paid our passages to Marseilles
in Wuppertal . With tips and other expenses the agent then
presented me with a bill that amounted to seven pounds and left me just enough
to pay for breakfast in the morning. [...] Anyway, the agent told me in Paris that the checks were
now over and once we had set foot on the boat train we were on Dutch soil. If
it came to war we still had a good chance of making it aboard. Up to then, I
had been constantly haunted by the nightmare that war could break out, I could
be arrested, and Irmhild and Gisela with the two children and the pile of luggage
would be stuck in Paris without money. At one o’clock, we arrived in Marseilles . The train
stopped right next to the liner and when we walked up the gangway three small
and three large weights dropped from our hearts, not only because we had
managed to get there and all our luggage had come along too but also because
the first news we heard told us that the discussions in Munich had turned out
positive and that there would be no world war. An hour later we headed out to
sea. (2.10.38)
Ekke’s
arrest and internment
My consort of honour was very
nice and my arrest and transportation a comedy. After I had seen first you and
then Edgewater disappear I was brought back to reality in the first curve when
I was almost suffocated by my collapsed mattress. From then on I fought a wild
battle against death by asphyxiation till we arrived at the hotel that is
situated just before the bridge where we stopped, as agreed. There we started
off with a few drinks to celebrate my arrest. Then we went on to the Aaron’s
Exchange Hotel where we had some more appetizers and then consumed toheroa
soup, lobster mayonnaise, and ice cream. We had a few bottles of beer to go with
that. Having gorged ourselves thus, we arose. But in the lounge my companions
met friends and asked whether I minded if we joined them for a bit. I was nice
and said I didn’t mind and there we then continued to drink till nine. One of
these friends was the comedian Lennie Lower, drunk as a lord and therefore
somewhat disappointing as a ‘wise cracker’. In between, my escorts left me and
I could move around the whole hotel freely and so was able to give you a ring.
Eventually the older man came back and said that it was now time to put me to
bed. Upon my inquiry whether we shouldn’t take the other fellow along he said
that he was unfortunately dead to the world. He couldn’t take much.
So we went back to the mattress
in the car and off we drove to Long
Bay 10 pm and the doorman and doorwoman
gave us an earful because we were so late. I should have been put into a city
lock-up overnight. Then, loaded up like a mule, I dragged my mattress,
blankets, bag, coat etc. into the reception hall where I was ‘examined’. I
could take along everything except money, pencil and pen. I was allowed to keep
the books after my ‘friend’ had declared that I was a learned man and the books
were purely scientific. I was given a receipt for my valuables and the
detective one for me and that done I was ‘in’. Then I loaded myself up with my
possessions once more and wandered off to one of the many prison buildings in
the company of a policeman. The gate was opened with much rattling of keys and clanking
of iron, cell no 26 unlocked, and I was given two minutes to make my bed and
unpack. Then the light went off. There I remained alone until seven in the
morning. (14.7.40)
Now I want to tell you a bit
about our Christmas festivities in prison. On Tuesday afternoon the young man
from Hamburg ,
Schant, and I decorated the Christmas tree which you brought in on Monday.
Apart from the lametta [tinsel] you
gave us, all the branches were covered with cotton wool so that the tree really
looked quite handsome and winterly. Then Brose, Janssen and I set the table
nicely and decorated it with chocolates, nuts etc. also flowers. Several plates
with treats were prepared and at six
o’clock the little silver bell was rung. (A knife against a
bottle.) Everybody came except Schreiber who was sick in bed. Menu: tinned
tongue, salad, sliced pineapple with sugar, cheese, sausage and bacon and to
finish off ice-cream and fruit salad (from tins). Everything tasted wonderful
and at the table things were beautifully harmonious for the first time. ‘Oh du fröhliche’, ‘Silent Night’ and ‘Oh
Christmas Tree’ were sung standing while I lit the Christmas tree which looked
very fine and had the proper shape. To finish off, we sang old soldiers’ songs
and then Meier gave an address in which he thanked those who had prepared the
festivities so nicely and then asked everybody to raise their mugs for a hearty
Siegheil; what was to be cheered he
didn’t say, probably the Christmas tree, the mugs were empty too, but that
didn’t worry him. The two Jews were not invited on the pretext that this was a
purely Christian religious festival. But I had taken poor Joseph Herrmann a
parcel with treats and a candle (a much desired item) beforehand and he was
very appreciative. On Christmas Day, you then came early and that was my best
Christmas present.
On Christmas Day the Italians
decorated the hall with coloured paper and had their feast at midday , to which they invited all the
Germans except Meier. Of course we couldn’t accept because the exclusion would
have caused a rift among us and given rise to all sorts of unpleasantness. So
he invited only Brose, Janssen and myself as his personal guests. We accepted
and had a nice feast with superb food which the Italian women had brought in.
The result was great agitation and disgruntlement among the Germans that we and
not they had been invited and also among the Jews. It was a real revolution and
the waves of outrage surged high. Consequently I then decided on Thursday to
grab the lion by the tail and convene a meeting for all. In it, I explained
that initially everybody except Meier had been invited because Meier had
repeatedly insulted Rossi and the Italians in a very tactless and insolent
manner. Meier denied this but when I called in Rossi he had to admit it.
Everyone then demanded that Meier apologize, otherwise [...] He did so and
Rossi accepted his apology. Everyone agreed that I had acted properly and Meier
was given a serious warning. The business was sorted out and now peace reigns
once more until the stinker Meier thinks of something new again. The Jews have
also calmed down. Now we want to celebrate New Year all together. In the
meeting I suggested we vote whether we shouldn’t invite the two Jews, who
always eat by themselves in their cells, to come to our table. It was a secret
ballot. The result: 7 no’s, 3 yes’s, 2 indifferent. I was surprised at the
result. (27.12.40)
Before he went, the older of the
Italians [...] called Panozzo, told me that he was descended from the Cimbri
and that in the part of northern Italy that was ceded to Italy after the war
there is a region where the only pure Cimbric tribes that still exist live on
two plateaus, 1000 meters in height, on either side of the river Brenta. And
even today, these tribes speak the old Cimbric language. Unfortunately he
himself no longer knew it. But he was very proud of his ancestry. He is exactly
as old as I am and in December 1917 we faced each other on the Brenta, I in
Primolano and he in San
Marino . Now we were squatting together in a
dim cell and again had the same fate. [...] The great battle of Asiago in which
a terrible amount of blood flowed was conducted, of all places, on the two
Cimbric plateaus and razed his home village to the ground. Deep snow and the
inaccessibility of the area resulted in most of the dead not being found. After
the war, Panozzo then took on the job of looking for these, collecting their
dog-tags and burying them. He pursued this task from the end of the war to the
end of 1921. In that period he and his helpers found and buried 56,000 dead.
250 alone were piled up in the cellar of his own house where they were laid
when they fell because they could not be buried outside since it was winter and
there was no ground to be had. – When he told me all that, I was at first
horrified. There was something spooky about being locked in a dusky cell with
this person. I suddenly felt revolted by this man who had agreed to become a
grave digger for money. But then he went on to say that the work had seemed
like a sacred trust to him. He described how he always carefully detached the
dog-tag and how with his own hands he had lifted many who were only a miserable
little pile of bones into the canvas bag and then buried them. [...] He is now
41 and he said that the dead, his dead, had now accompanied him through all his
life and if he experienced something that was sad and difficult, then he only
had to think of his dead. Then he laughed and pointing to the cell said: ‘This
isn’t difficult, this is only annoying.’ And then the light in our cell was
turned on from outside, the bolts squealed and Panozzo and his compatriot were
moved to Long Bay
Irmhild’s
account of internment for her brother Arnold.
When Italy entered the war [Ekke]
was interned in spite of being Australian by birth. When things looked as
though Japan
would come in, Gisela was put in a camp. Our little Peter had been born in
October ‘39 and I found it was almost beyond my strength to look after the
large house and the three little children by myself. (7.11.46)
We experienced a good deal that
was horrible because of the war, so that once Gisela had been interned, I
actively promoted my own internment with the children. On the other hand, many
people and above all the ordinary and uneducated ones behaved in a wonderfully
decent and humane manner. Among the educated Australians we have only a few,
though trusted and very dear friends. But as a class, I like the lower middle
classes here best. (4.10.46)
[...] the first year was a nightmare and I had
often asked myself whether it was the right thing to expose [the children] to
these conditions. They came down with one illness after the other, eventually
severe hooping cough that affected Silke particularly badly. The food was quite
unsuitable for children as they were used to carefully prepared diet food and
the sanitary conditions were appalling. It is only thanks to the healthy
climate that no really bad diseases broke out. On top of that, there was the
cramped space in the huts into which you were squashed. The corrugated iron
became scorching hot in summer [...] in winter it was icy, terribly draughty
and cold. There was no way of heating the rooms. The closest water tap was a
walk away and the toilet a journey. There were three showers for about 150 women,
the same for men. The toilets were too unsanitary for children to use so that
they always had to do their business in the huts which meant that one of the
adults was always out emptying potties. We had to lug all water for washing
across a big yard. There were only two coppers for the entire population. From
them to the washing lines was again a lengthy trek. In summer we suffered from
terrible dust storms. You then had to close windows and doors in spite of the
burning heat and could still hardly breathe. In winter there was ankle deep mud
everywhere and you never had dry shoes. There were no shade trees and the
children could only play right in the dirt and always looked as was to be
expected. That meant that Gisela and I had a huge amount of washing every day.
The dining halls were terribly overcrowded because the camp had originally been
intended for fewer people. In time, two more barracks were built. Forty-eight
people, if there had really been only two per room, which wasn’t the case. The
noise and the unappetizing spectacles at dinner were among the things I found
most off-putting. No wonder that the children could hardly be persuaded to eat;
it didn’t taste good and they had too much excitement and diversion. Nearly all
these things improved after a time. I was the front-line fighter for a
children’s cuisine which I managed to get going for a while till a more
far-reaching reform of the kitchen could be achieved and the Germans separated
from the Italians and Arabs. After that the food became much better and by then
the children had also got used to the new conditions. Soon gardens were laid
out in front of the huts which decreased the amount of loose dust and gave a
more friendly appearance. The paths were stabilized with gravel, and drains
were dug so that it was, on the whole, no longer necessary to wade through the
mud. A large grass-covered oval, on which at first only the school children had
occasionally been allowed to do sport, was made accessible to the general
public and included in the confines of the camp throughout the day, though it
was closed at night because there was only a fence and no barbed wire around
it. But that was just marvellous. Then a large hall was also built for plays,
concerts and the like and equipped with a great deal of care and good taste.
Gardens outside the camp, in which men and women could work during the day,
supplied us with fresh vegetables which had been very rare at the start. Our
huts were lined with plywood and the layer of air between it and the corrugated
iron created quite good insulation. The considerable disadvantage was, however,
that bed-bugs had nested in it and could not be exterminated in spite of the
enormous efforts made to smoke them out. Now the hot summer nights were spent
hunting the bugs; which was particular fun because it had to be done in the
dark. At ten the light was switched off from outside and candles and torches
were prohibited. Towards the end of our period in camp, we were then even
granted light for the express purpose of hunting bugs. It did have to be turned
off at ten thirty on a
trumpet signal but you were allowed to turn it on if the children were sick or
if you were ‘hunting’. The official debugging which occurred at regular
intervals in summer was something horrific. Early in the morning everything had
to be moved out of the huts onto the road along with the bugs! That was
particularly depressing. The beds were driven out of the camp and put into a
pit with supposedly bug-killing liquid. They stayed in there for two hours,
which the bugs, who had apparently been looking forward to just such a bath,
thought was grand. In the meantime, the men walked through the huts with masks
and spray-guns, fumigating them with formalin and kerosene; they came out again
after a while, red-eyed, coughing and cursing. You spent the rest of the day on
the road with your bundles and suitcases, sweating, dusty, furious at the
futility of this undertaking [...] (28.1.47)
On the whole, the time of
internment enriched both adults and children. By living together so closely in
the camp, you became acquainted with people in ways that would never have been
possible otherwise. And putting up with discomfort strengthens your resilience
and makes you grateful for what you have. It would have seemed almost unethical
not to have carried some of the burden, even though our lives behind barbed
wire couldn’t be of help to anyone. For the children, the years of German
schooling were important. Silke and Uwe learnt to read and write German and we
will make sure that they do not forget it again. (26.7.46)
