In April 1949 I successfully completed grade 5 of my schooling. At that time in Germany the minimum of schooling was 9 years. If you were bright enough you went to high school after completing grade 5. You could sit for your intermediate certificate after year 10 and for your leaving certificate after year 12.
My brother Siegfried had left school in 1950 and started his apprenticeship as a compositor (typesetter) at the publishing house of the Seventh Day Adventists. Asking him years later if he was happy with our parent’s choice of his profession, his reply was that he had no say in the matter, and he simply made the best of it. Also, in 1950 apprenticeships were still hard to obtain – but back to myself, I was bright enough, and my school reports were good enough to go to high school. But my parents could not be convinced, I was too lazy to study, I didn’t know what I wanted and they knew what was best for me. I am sure money came into this as well, because attending high school was not free, so I stayed at primary school for another 4 years, until April ’53.
What did I want to do in life? Playing around with wood I always enjoyed, also fiddling with mechanical bits, so I would have liked to become a cabinet maker or some kind of mechanic, in German called a Feinmechaniker. Counselling through school in the last year established that I would have been good in both these trades, but my parents had other ideas. You are becoming a bookbinder! At the same place where my brother had just finished his apprenticeship, Grindeldruck gmbh. A family friend from church was bindery manager there and had the authority to take me on.
Years later my parents admitted that they wanted their children to stay and work within the church and be sheltered from sins and temptation in the big bad world.
My apprenticeship ran from April 1953 for three years,and I enjoyed it very much. Bookbinding is really a very interesting and varied trade, and 50 years ago there were actually 2 separate trades, hand binding and industrial binding, with different trade school teachings. I had to learn both, because of the great variety of work at Grindeldruck. From gilt edged, leatherbound bibles to large edition , clothbound volumes. Not to mention a hundred different paper, cardboard or leather products which had nothing at all to do with bookbinding. I was one of three apprentices, one each to each year of our theee year training, and we were taught by an old master bookbinder, Herr Kaeselau, who was 62 when I started.
He didn’t like boys very much and whenever he could he would get a young girl from the main bindery to assist him. He would then find reason to denigrate and embarrass us boys in front of the girls. We hated him! And of course we tried hard to pay him back or get even. I became quite good at this with practice, as I, the youngest, had to suffer the most. I could almost write a book about the things I did to him. Many times he suspected me to be the culprit but he could never prove it. Which again made things worse for me, especially since I made sure he could not fault my work.
An apprentice’s wages were quite low, 50, 60 and 70 marks per month for each respective year. Normally my parents would have taken 30 marks per month board off me, but, as I had to travel to work by bike, I convinced them that I really had to have a new bicycle. The old one was too unreliable and heavy. It also had no proper lighting. So they agreed to buy a new sports bike for me on credit, but instead of paying board I had to pay it off over 2 years. I was over the moon!
Going to work on the bike took 25 to 30 minutes and it was a lot of fun. Except in winter, but then I went by tram and underground, which took almost one hour. Siegfried, my brother came out of his time when I started my apprenticeship, and until he got himself a Vespa scooter in ’55, we usually rode to work together. Our route took us through the Stadtpark, a very large park with 2 lakes, one of which also doubled as a swimming pool. Quite often in summer we would leave for work early and go for a swim. Despite encountering horrible large water rats we always had fun, as there were usually other teenagers having a dip on their way to work.
In Germany the working week was still 48 hours, and the workday started at 7am, which meant getting up around 5am, washing your face, brushing your teeth and since our mother never ever got up for us, getting your own breakfast. This always consisted of a bowl of uncooked oats with sugar and hot or cold milk. It filled you up and was healthy! Sandwiches for our lunch mum always made the night before.
Getting back to washing your face, we didn’t have a bathroom, only a basin in the kitchen, no hot water either, and on days when we took public transport to work we dressed up properly. A suit with collar and tie. Then you had a decent wash, which meant washing your neck and wrists to keep collar and cuffs clean. And underwear was changed once a week. So, having a swim before work meant you arrived there clean, but you still smelled of perspiration from the bike ride. During the colder season we always went to the local indoor pool on a Friday afternoon, before sabbath started, for a swim and the weekly shower. When we got home we changed into clean clothes, including underwear. Once we started work at Grindeldruck, the company paid for all apprentices to go to the local pool on Fridays. They also provided each of us with 1 litre of milk a day, as we all (bookbinders to a lesser extend) had to handle printing-type, which was primarily lead.
Annual leave for apprentices was four weeks, and we had to take them in one lot, and always during the long summer school holidays. This was great, getting paid while on holidays. Again I went on the church camp (53) but I am not certain where it was that year, probably at one of the large lakes in Holstein.
The following year I planned to do my own thing during the holidays. My feet had become quite itchy and I was dying to see more of Germany – and perhaps the World. I had read some books about the French Foreign Legion, and the French fighting in Indochina was very much in the daily news. The legion itself was much gloryfied and naturally fostered adventurism in a restless young bloke like myself. Having at that time lots of hassles with Mr. Kaeselau at work was not helping, so I planned my holidays as a one-way trip, not returning to Hamburg.
The plan was as followed: Cycling to Cologne, then follow the Rhein river to Koblenz, the confluence of the Rhein and Mosel, follow the Mosel all the way to Trier, turn east and head for Idar-Oberstein, a town well known for jewellery production. It also had a enlisting office for the foreign legion in Germany. My rough estimate of distance was 700-800 Km one way and I had four weeks for travelling and sightseeing. I stayed in youth-hostels every night, and therefore had to plan each day how far to cycle as not every town had one.
The first day I got as far as Kassel, close on 300 km south of Hamburg, and the weather was typical for northern Germany. Incessant heavy driving rain all day, and it was not warm summer rain either. I carried only some light summer clothes in my saddle bags, but never went without a Pelarine, a kind of poncho for bike riders. It kept me fairly dry, except for head, legs and feet. Finally getting into Kassel, a large city, I still had to locate the youth hostel, which took some time.But I got there eventually, and after a long hot shower and a hearty meal I curled up in a bunk bed, warm in my sleeping bag. The following day I only got as far as Fulda because I climbed the Wasserkuppe to watch gliders taking off and landing. It was fascinating.
Being a Wandervogel (wandering bird) in those days meant you always found companions on the roads, you cycled in company for a while, or a day if you caught up with a pretty girl.The roads were seldom flat, and most girls appreciated it if you rode next to her and pushed her uphill for a few k’s.
I hit the Rhine not far from Bonn and headed south as far as Koblenz, then west up the Mosel river towards Trier, an ancient town from the roman days.The river valley is very narrow and winding with steep mountains on either side. Vineyards all the way to Trier and back, interspersed with old castles in all sorts of repair, or disrepair. Most are open for inspection, and even 50 years ago the owners really charged you for your interest in old ruins.
Halfway to Trier I turned south again, heading for Idar-Oberstein and the Foreign-Legion recruiting office. I filled in all the application forms for joining-up, then had to wait a few days while my case was considered, and then rejected. Too young, only 16, had to wear spectacles and had no passport. End of story, and in hindsight just as well. If I had been accepted I probably wouldn’t be alive now to write these words, the survival rate in North Africa and Indochina was very low indeed.
I travelled on through the Hunsrueck mountains towards Trier where I spent a few days while deciding which way to head back to Hamburg. It was still July and therefore German Grand Prix season at the Nuerburg Ring in the Eifel, a mountain range running along the whole western side of the mosel river. And that is where I headed, the village of Adenau at the foot of the Nuerburg. I stayed at the Youthhostel and to get to the race track I had to push the bike approximately 8 Km uphill, but it was worth the effort. I was able to watch several qualifying races of Mercedes Benz ”Silberpfeile”, perhaps even saw Juan Fangio, who raced that year.
My next stop on my way home was Cologne, where I looked up my uncle Gerhard and his wife Lilly. As I had never met them before I was a bit apprehensive. Uncle Gerhard was my mothers older brother, and compared with my parents he was a man of the world and enjoyed life to the fullest. He earned a very good living as the head traveller for a reputable spirit and liqueur manufacturer in Duesseldorf, and he certainly enjoyed a drink. During the few days I stayed with them Germany played Switzerland for the soccer world championship in Bern, and Germany won.
It was a thrilling match, as I remember it. We watched it in a pub across the road from their flat in the old part of Cologne. Television was only new in Germany in 1954, and not many people could afford a set, that is where the pubs came into the picture. After saying good bye to my lovely auntie and uncle I made my way towards Dortmund, where my Dads brother Gustaf and his family with five kids lived.
Gustaf stayed and married in East Prussia when the rest of the Wegat’s moved to Hamburg in the 1920s. During the war he was stationed at the eastern front and was lucky to escape to the west when Germany capitolated. After Russia invaded Prussia, his family, Aunt Lenchen with their children Guenter, Elsbeth, Gertraut, Klaus and Dieter were evacuated across the baltic to Kiel, where they lived in a refugee camp until approximately 1952, when they were resettled in Dortmund. As I had only the suburb and street-name, but no number, I couldn’t locate them. I didn’t even know what any of them looked like. So, back onto the road, pedalling for home and another year of work.
The following years holidays I spent partly at the church’s summer camp and partly at my aunt Lina’s in Harburg, as I was very close to my cousin Peter. He was three years younger than I. As mentioned earlier, Tante Lina was widowed in the early 40’s, and as she received a very generous pension from the Hugo Stinnes shipping company, she was very reluctant to remarry (and lose her pension). She had met this widower whose wife had perished in a concentration camp. He, Uncle August, was a bricklayer and had built himself a nice brick home in Harburg. They kept chooks and ducks, the odd piglet and a goose for Christmas. In plain language, good food was always plentyful. But that was not the reason why I loved going there for weekends or longer holidays, I just loved tante Lina!
Getting to her house took almost 2 hours by pushbike, as it was more than 20Km’s, all the way through the city to the harbour, across the Elbe by tunnel and through 2 more suburbs to Harburg. When I visited in summer we usually went swimming at an open air bath in a local lake at walking distance from auntie Lina’s place, and in winter we went “rodeln”, which means sliding down snow-covered hills on a sled, great fun, and quite skilful, as you had to steer with your feet or bare hands to avoid hitting trees or other obstacles.
We also never missed visiting our auntie Dolly on our bikes. She and uncle Fritz loved us visiting as they had no grandchildren living near them. Uncle Fritz was retired and his shed was like Alladin’s cave to us, full of tools and interesting small machines which he used to repair or build things. If I remember correctly, grandfather clocks were his specialty, and he always had one or two dismantled and in pieces.
At one visit, I remember, he was carving the inscription on the wooden cross for his mothers (our grandmother) grave. She had died in 1943, but her sons never got around to have a cross carved for her grave during the war.
To get to their house we had to cross Harburg’s main cemetary, and it was rather spooky. The cemetary was very old, with lots of large old trees and bushes. A much used narrow and winding footpath was the only way through in the direction we had to take. It was called the Schlucht, or the gorge, and even in daylight it was dark, damp and spooky.
Onkel Karl lived only a few hundred meters from Onkel Fritz, and whenever we went visiting with our parents for some family do we had to go through the “Schlucht” on our way to or from the tram. Even as we grew older it was still spooky and in a way scary, especially on moonlit nights when the shadows moved and clouds raced across the sky and obliterated the moon. The hooting of an owl made your blood curdle and we huddled close to our father.
In 1984, on my first trip back to Germany, nostalgia made me walk the same old path through the cemetery to Onkel Fritz’s old place and it felt as if the clock had been stopped for 30 odd years, the same eerie feeling. That same day I also wanted to visit my cousin Peter’s grave, but could not find it. I came back on another day with Tante Lina. Peter had died in 1963 in a car accident while on weekend leave from the army. Tante Lina suffered greatly. She had lost two husbands and her only child, but not her soft heart or her compassion for others. In the last years of her life she suffered from severe dementia. She passed away in January 2002, aged 96.
Uncle Karl and his wife, Auntie Hertha lived only a hundred meters from Fritz and Dolly. They had one son, Onkel Karl’s stepson Erich, who was probably 7-8 years older than I, and therefore too old to play with us. In fact, Erich never had any time for us. He had a beautiful model steam engine, but we could only admire it from a distance. Whenever we visited he hid it on top of a high wardrobe, out of our reach.
But Onkel Karl himself loved his nephews and he always had time to play with us, or get himself into trouble over us. He loved a drink and always made us kids have a sip from his glass, whether it was beer, wine or schnapps. My parents of course always had a few words to say, but Karls standard answer was… loosen up…
Onkel Karl was fortunate to own and drive a car already before the war. It was an old Adler. When the war started most private cars were confiscated by the Nazis, unless you were a doctor or party official. Onkel Karl was neither, but he was determined not to hand his precious car over. So he dismantled it and stored parts all over the place, buried in his garage and in Onkel Fritz’s bombshelter (I remember seeing them there in the late 1940’s). When officials knocked on his door to collect his car he told them that he had wrecked it in an accident some time before and had only saved the motor and wheels. For some reason they believed his story and he got away with it.
In the early fifties he reassembled the car and he was much envied for it. Not many people could afford to run a car in those years. I remember one year, it would have been either my mother’s or father’s birthday, Onkel Karl and Tante Hertha came in their Adler and they brought Tante Lina and my cousin Peter with them. My parents, being Seventh Day Adventists did not drink and did not approve of others drinking. Therefore no grog was kept in our house, not even for family celebrations. Very sad, but if Onkel Karl wanted to drink to his brothers health he had to bring his own grog. This is exactly what he was going to do, get his own from the nearst pub and he wanted us boys to go along for the ride. Well, the pub we went to was some distance from home. By now Onkel Karl had developed a thirst and he had a beer or two and ordered shandies for us three boys. We were old enough for a beer, he claimed. and we only agreed with him.
Eventually we got back to our house, all being a bit under the weather. My father and Tante Lina were both furious about the state we boys were in, and also about the length of time it took to get the “unnecessary” alcohol. That was always the beginning of my fathers preaching, the drink, and how it always led to other vices, like playing cards, other forms of gambling, and of course womanising! But Onkel Karl was too goodnatured and easygoing to get upset about his brother’s rantings, and consequently we never had any serious arguments in the family.
My apprenticeship took its boring course, and I could hardly wait for the summer of 1955, and of course the annual holidays. The church camp that year was to be held near Cuxhaven, at the mouth of the river Elbe. I remembered the area from a school-camp some years earlier, and was really looking forward to three weeks of sun, water and sand.
I went with my two best mates Lothar Gruenberg and Dieter Wegener, both belonging to church, and Lothar also being a bookbinder and colleague at work. We all travelled to camp by train. We had brought our own tent, and consequently we were not allowed to pitch it in the general camp area where the large church tents were erected. As we were considered visitors we had to pay for our meals on a daily basis, but we also did not have to abide the camp rules. That suited us just fine, and on many evenings we walked 3-4 k’s into the nearest village, Sahlenburg, to have a beer and listen to the jukebox at the local pub.