Figure 1.--

My memories do not begin earlier than 1944 when I entered school. I was the only child of a professional Whrmacht officer, special crack troops, his rank was comparable with a sergeant. We lived in the small town of Dueren near Cologne. Most of the town including my home and my school burnt down in one single night. My mother decided to take refuge at an old aunt living in Austria (than a part of Germany). Our train was bombed and my mother was killed but I survived.

Eisenerz, Austria

Here I lived from 1944 to 1947 late autumn for about three years. This place is a centre of ore mining and it is called “Austrian Siberia” for its cold climate. After a few weeks my great aunt fell ill and I was given to foster parents, a very poor couple. There were two other foster boys, who were barefooted with wore patched and faded clothes. My shoes and socks were taken away and I learned to walk barefooted from Easter to middle of October, even to school. In the first weeks I suffered from pain on my soles since I was not used to walk barefooted. After my shorts from home were torn I was so happy to get 2nd or 3rd hand Lederhosen. These were from brown leather without cuffs and with a halter. I had to wear them all over the year. In wintertime we got long stockings, self knitted from scratching wool and fastened with an garter. These were then the most detested pieces of clothing for boys. In case the stockings were not long enough or the trousers too short you were mocked by the girls because your leg could be seen. Older boys refused to wear garters to hold up the long stockings and tried to get long trousers. Some had to resist (or had decided to) even deep minus degrees with knee socks. Since we had no Sunday dress we could not visit the mass but had to pray kneeling on the kitchen floor at home. Our beds were extremely miserably equipped: Instead of mattresses we slept on a sort of bag filled with straw. We got no linen and only had rough felt blankets.

Going Home

In late autumn 1947 my father sent a letter and applied to the Red Cross for me to be sent back home. He had survived and was released from the POW camp. He had got a room with a young soldier’s widow and a friend had provided him with work. When we met at the train platform of my home town Dueren both of us were very surprised. I nearly did not recognize this gaunt man in an old raincoat. And my appearance was like a beggar child not like an officer’s son. I had been sent back in my old boots and those woollen long stockings since we had already ecperienced frost at Eisenerz even though it was still mild autumn in the Rhineland. The Lederhosen had gone to my younger foster brother an I had to put on his worn-out and badly patched short trousers. My father seemed to be disgusted – this dirty beggar boy his son? Yes, I was neglected. He was furious and in a rage told me to immediately take off these ugly stockings at the platform and called me a softie. Recently I read a saying of the NAZI time that would govern my future: “A German boy trembles because he does not freeze, but with rage that it is not colder!”

My New Home

At home, in a small rented flat, I met a very decisive woman and was told she would soon become my mother. I had to undress and was sent under the shower to be thoroghly scrubbed with a brush. Until now nobody cared for my cleanliness and it was really a problem to remove the weeks old dirt from knees, feet and hands. Meanwhile my father went to the neighbours and asked for some boy’s clothes: You know – in 1947 you nearly could not get any clothing or other textiles without ration coupons. But he came back with some boys garments – underwear, shirts, ankle socks and shoes. And – I was really happy – a Lederhose! It was just lent for the wintertime. Dad ordered that he wanted me to become a very tough boy. No long trousers! No long stockings! 5 minutes cold shower every morning and every night! Dressed with what Dad had got I may have looked a little bit more like a middle class boy. The Lederhose had cuffs, rather short legs, a front clap and halter fit me better than my previous pair. But I was so skinny, thin arms, thin legs, sunken face – I needed nourishing food which was still a problem in 1947. But I got it. This was my first winter in short Lederhosen with ankle sockets only. It was hard to stand for a small boy of not even 10 years. There were two more of us in my class but they wore knee sockets and shorts with longer legs. By spring – now I looked a lot healthier and was nom longer hungry more -– I got Lederhosen of my own. Dad enrolled me in a Boy Scout group where I met more boys dressed like me..

Lederhosen

The type of lederhosen I favoured is made of nearly ndestructible brown leather and it may last for decades. It has got a front clap which allows to fix a belt instead of haltars. My summer dress from Easter to October was completed by a coloured short-armed shirt and sandals only. On Sunday dress was the same but with a white shirt. My winter dress was like in summer but with a pullover, a warm cushioned wind breaker, shoes and ankle sockets in addition. I accepted this situation the more the elder I became since there were a few more boys of my age toughened by even stricter fathers and the training under the icy-cold shower twice a day had toughened me too. My first long trousers I got for the dancing lessons in the age of 16. After long discussions dad had surrendered.

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Created: 7:27 AM 9/24/2009
Last updated: 7:27 AM 9/24/2009