Children to a Degree - Growing Up Under the Third Reich (17 page)

“No, I don’t think that I will change my mind. They run the language courses in 6 month intervals. I expect to be back in Spring time.”

Karl hated to see his friend leave but he knew that his KLV assignments would also take him away. He feared that their playtime in the U-bahn tunnels had come to an end.

“Maybe you can join me when you come back,” he expressed a hopeful thought.

“Whatever comes, Karl, we will stay friends.” Neither one of the boys anticipated that their friendship would last another 50 years.

Karl hurried home to show his parents what his friend had accomplished. He found his family in a somber mood. His father was laying out his black suit and his usually cheerful mother was quietly searching through the closets.

“We will have to attend a funeral service for Walter. You remember him, he was your cousin.” Karl’s father announced. “His tank must have crawled over a mine. No survivors have been found.”

Karl had only met his cousin a few times but he remembered him as a young daredevil. Always joyful and telling jokes Karl did not understood because they always involved girls or women. Karl remembered one or two of the jokes and he had wanted to ask his cousin to explain to him what was so funny about them. Now it was too late.

The funeral service was nothing more than a small gathering at the home of his uncle. Every one of the family members was dressed in a black suit or dress except Karl. He had no dark clothing and his mother had insisted that he wear his uniform.

When his aunt saw Karl, she was taken aback for a moment. His cousin had been only eighteen years old and his HJ uniform was folded neatly below a photograph of him. The picture showed him in the black uniform of the Panzer grenadiers.

“Let’s pray that the war will be over before they draft you into service,” said Karl’s uncle in way of a greeting.

There was no priest or pastor present and there were no remains of Walter to be buried. It was a silent get-together of a few relatives who tried to console Karl’s aunt and uncle.

Karl was astonished and at the same time disappointed as he listened to the conversation of the adults. It seemed that they were somehow relieved that there were no direct funeral costs for his aunt and uncle.  The military command had sent a registered letter to the family advising them that the body of Walter had been shredded by the exploding panzer. It closed with the remark that the parents should be proud of their son who sacrificed his young life for the idea of a 1,000-year Reich
. “He gave his life for his beloved Fuehrer, Adolf Hitler.”

Below the writing was a rubber stamped signature from some military casualty registration office. Karl asked for the letter and read it twice. He realized that he could read it several more times but he would still not understand why this letter was worth dying for. There must be more to it, he reasoned with himself, because he did not want to ask the adults. They were too busy discussing the retreats of the German troops in Russia.

“I did not know that Walter had been drafted and that he was a member of the panzer forces,” said Karl on the way home. He tried to remember when he last saw his cousin. 

“Walter had been drafted about two months ago. But he was right away ordered to the Russian front,” his father informed him.

Karl thought about Rudy and the other older HJ leaders he had met during the short time he had been in the Jungvolk. He wondered if he would see any of them again.

***

A week later he was escorting a KLV train transport of 8 and 9-year-old boys to Bavaria. His departure was on a Sunday and his parents together with his little brother and sister went with him to the railroad station to see him off. His father was in a good mood because the letter from the school administration had informed him that Karl would be back within a few weeks. He was supposed to assist the female teachers during the trip and then install some of the programs he had previously designed in his camp on the island of Usedom.

Karl had spent the evening before the trip ironing his two uniform shirts and polishing his shoes. He was proud of his handiwork. The more he ironed his own shirts the more he became proficient in it. His mother was equally proud of him. He looked sharp and snappy in his uniform and with his neat haircut.

The platform in the train station was nearly filled to capacity with parents and relatives seeing off the children. Karl was perplexed that the school officials had forgotten to name a meeting place for the teachers and the sub leaders. He had been told that there was another Jungvolk sub leader appointed to this transport.

All he could see was a large bunch of crying children and adults. The heavy locomotive was already under steam and it looked like the train was ready to be boarded. But so far nobody entered the train and no one seemed to be in charge.

“See what I mean,” Karl said to his parents. “If some of the school officials would find the time to come to the departure they would see firsthand that there needs to be some planning. But, nooo, they are all senior officials, and it is Sunday, and the children are finally out of their hair. So all is good.” He shook his head and looked up and down the platform to spot something like a teacher.

Herr Veth had to agree that his son had a point. He decided to write a letter to the KLV administration.

“Good bye, Schwesterchen.” Karl kissed his little sister and brother and shook hands with his parents.

“I’ll see you real soon,” he assured his parents. “It is not as if I am drafted into the military. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He stepped on top of the three steps leading up to the compartments of the train and took his signal whistle out of his pocket. Three ear-piercing blows from his whistle later, another boy in uniform pressed himself forward and toward him.

“Heil Hitler, my name is Peter Zahn and I am to assist you.” His salute was satisfactory and Karl liked him from the first moment he saw him. His uniform was spotless, his shoes clean and polished and his face featured a grin which seemed to reach from ear to ear. He was a good deal heavier than Karl but seemed to be of the same age.

“Heil Hitler, my name is Karl Veth. Please go to the station master of this platform and ask him if we could use his public address system.”

Karl handed Peter the red and white arm sleeve of the sub leaders. He had several of them in his pocket. Compliments of Harold who somehow had connections in every direction.

While Peter fumbled to adjust his shirt sleeves an older woman in the uniform of a station master pushed herself through the crowd.

“Who blew the whistle?” she demanded to know.

“I did,” answered Karl.

“Stupid kid, you almost caused the train to start moving. Let me have the whistle!”

Karl just smiled at her. “Sorry, Frau Station master. I would really appreciate your help. I need to get the children on the train. I don’t know where the teachers are. Could you please be so kind and announce to the teachers to take charge?”

The woman who was prepared for an argument was perceptibly pleased by the polite answer and request. She forgot all about the whistle and motioned to Karl to follow her.

A few minutes later the loudspeaker announced in her voice, that the teachers were to meet at the station master cubicle and that the parents should assist the children to board the train, eight children per compartment.

Shortly thereafter four women teachers, between about 30 and 40 years old, showed up at the cubicle. Karl was still a little upset that the women teachers had not acted on their own, but he figured that there was nothing to be gained by being impatient. Besides, he had no authority other than over the children and not until the train was on its way. He respectfully introduced himself to the teachers who had already heard about him and were glad to meet him. Especially the oldest one.

What had started out as a little mess gave way to a nice cooperation.

“Are your parents here at the station to see you off?” Karl inquired and looked at Peter.

“Yes, they are here. But when I heard your whistle I just left them standing and came running.”

“Well, say your goodbye to them and then start in the front of the train and walk through the compartments and help the boys to get settled in. I will start in the rear and we will meet in the middle.”

One of the older teachers addressed Karl. “This is our first children transport. We understand that you are experienced. Do you have any suggestions for us?”

Karl shook his head. “No, this is my first time on a train. You might find a reserved compartment. I don’t know.”

“Fifteen minutes to departure,” came the voice over the loudspeaker.

“Where are the children to help me with my suitcases?” asked one of the younger teachers. Her high heels clicked on the stones of the platform while she walked around.  She had a hard time keeping her shoulder bag from slipping down her arm while at the same time she tried to keep her hair out of her eyes.

Karl looked at her in disbelief. He thought that the teachers were supposed the help the children. Not the other way around.

“I am afraid that the children have their hands full with their own belongings. You might wish to ask the station master for help.” He wanted to add that she had also the option of staying behind, but his gut told him to keep this to himself.

“This is not right,” she exclaimed. “My name is Hannelore Wigand. I am a member of the NSDAP (Nazi party) and I demand help. Right Now!” she almost shouted her request for assistance. Karl was unperturbed. He decided to have a little fun with the Nazi educator.

“Right now? The train is leaving. Heil Hitler.” He snapped a sharp salute in her direction and turned on his left heel. He must have done something comical because he could hear the other teachers snickering behind him.

“Ten minutes to departure. We request that the parents exit the train.” The station master announced through the speaker system.

Karl could hear ‘Hannelore’ screaming at the other teachers for help. He wondered how this would evolve and passed close to his parents on his way to the rear of the train. He waved as he passed by and his little sister threw him a kiss.
Dang,
he thought to himself,
I have another minute
and he walked back to shake their hands once more.

“What gives with the blaring woman?” asked his father.

“Don’t know, Pappa, I think she is overtaxed for her job.” Karl smirked and wanted to hurry on when a remark from his mother stopped him.

“I am able to understand her rant. She is a member of the ‘party’ and she is entitled to be helped.”

“Right,” smiled Herr Veth and waved at Karl to keep on going and then turned to his wife. “Karl is right. This teacher did not pay attention or is unable to read. There were luggage carts with signs for teachers and students right at the front of the platform. You remember, we placed Karl’s suitcase on one of them.”

Karl’s mother argued that these signs are only meant for regular ‘street people’ and that party members are entitled to preferred services.

“Right,” repeated Herr Veth.  

“Please stand back from the train. Departure is imminent.”

The stationmaster repeated the same message three times and a shrill whistle signaled the locomotive crew to get going.

A second later the great hall of the railroad station reverberated from the high pitched train whistle. There was no band playing as there had been at the departure of the river boat. Children transports to the air raid safe countryside were now a regular occurrence.

Fifteen

Karl caught a glimpse of his family from the rear wagon.  They were calmly waving in his direction but he doubted that they were actually seeing him. He walked slowly through the train towards the center. To his surprise the whole train consisted of 2
^nd
class wagons.

The German Railroad featured, at that time, three different seating arrangements. It started with wagons which were marked 3
^rd
class. It consisted of wooden benches without individual compartments. Then came 2
^nd
class, which featured upholstered benches and individual compartments for six to eight people. The compartments were separated from the gangway with windows and a glass sliding door.

First class consisted of similar compartments and heavy cushioned seats with a cloth of white linen covering the headrests. Most of the regular trains in 1942 were made up of eight 3
^rd
class wagons, two 2
^nd
class wagons and one 1
^st
class wagon.

To Karl’s relief there were no bullies on this train who commandeered the windows as there had been on the riverboat.

“Good morning. My name is Karl. I will patrol the train throughout the entire trip. If you need any help with anything, now or later at the camp, you are more than welcome to ask me.” His greeting in the individual compartments was always the same and he could see that the boys were impressed by his uniform.

When he reached the approximate center of the train he found a compartment with reserved seats for the teachers. ‘Hannelore’ was seated next to the gangway and still had a problem with getting her hair under control. She was sitting straight up and one of her locks covered half of her face and one of her eyes. She would wipe the hair back with her hand and a short time later her eye was covered again.

Karl was dumbfounded. He had never seen anything so bizarre. The women in his family did not have this problem and none of the other women he had met in his short lifetime suffered from a similar disorder.

He just could not help himself. “Heil Hitler,” he shouted with an outstretched arm. He clicked his heels and stared directly at Hannelore’s party bonbon. Bingo, her hair fell down and one of her eyes was covered again.

“I am sorry to report that we do not feature a first class compartment for party members.” A blank look from Hannelore.  The other female teachers could not believe their ears. They started to like the young boy.