Читать книгу The Seventh Cellist - Monika Borth - Страница 9

Turbulent Years

I spent this post-war summer with my mother in Wiesbaden. People in all big cities suffered from hunger and the organisation of food dominated their everyday life. It was called “foraging”. Black Markets spread everywhere, because the shops were empty. At all corners of our town there were small places where goods were swapped and bargains made. Somehow, I succeeded again and again to supply us with food, mostly in the little villages in the nearby Rheingau Valley. I rode my bike to Mainz-Finthen and Gonsenheim to swap some household goods for food. In times of high inflation, however, the most stable currency was cigarettes. It seems trading has always been one of my character traits: already at the age of four, I wanted to sell my small children’s bed to an antique shop in Wiesbaden, a plan prevented by my mother at the very last moment. Later, at the age of seven, I gained the reputation of ‘King of Bones’ in our school: all children were supposed to collect paper, cigarette paper and animal bones for the military. The bones I got at the Butcher’s.

My father, though working hard in construction, did not contribute much to the family income. One day, on my way to Mainz-Finthen, I passed by a small Circus named “Bügler”, which had set up their tent directly next to the Rhine. There was a sign at the gate reading, “We urgently need a musician – violinist or piano player”. I immediately thought of my father and quickly cycled back home to tell him. We both returned to “Bügler” right away, where my father was hired on the spot. At least he was saved from the construction site and would no longer need to ruin his musician’s hands with hard labour. However, his new work was not exactly easy. Next to his nightly performances, he had a lot of other chores on his hands, for example to set up and take down the Circus tent upon arrival or leaving a town. During the winter, wearing a Circus uniform, he had to lead the animals through town. One day, a camel broke loose and escaped, which caused quite some turmoil, and my father was fined 10,00 German Marks, a lot of money at the time! Also, he told us, he once was asked to play Zigeunerweisen by Pablo de Sarasate on his violin – inside the lions’ cage! I was glad he had not been eaten up by one of the lions!

His new work required him to move out from home and live in a Circus wagon to be shared with three others, sleeping on bunk beds. During his first night there, he asked the man sleeping on the cot under his what he had been doing during the past years. When he learned that he shared the room with an executioner, needless to say, my father had a sleepless night. The very next morning, he started looking for another place to sleep. All in all, my father liked his new job surprisingly well. Also, in his free time, he taught the youngsters there German, English and Mathematics.

When they set up their tent in Hamburg, he saw the big American Circus “Williams” was in town, too, and asked if they needed a musician. Afterwards he travelled with them through the country and earned more money than before. For my mother, however, it was not easy, because her husband was never at home, which meant that she had to deal with the difficult post-war situation all by herself. Meanwhile, my grandparents were also living with us in our flat in Wiesbaden, and everyone needed to be fed! My sister Marie-Theres, being the eldest, was responsible for the younger siblings and all household chores, while our mother went out to organise our survival. At times, she was surely overwhelmed by all these tasks, as can be seen in the diaries she kept during that time. What gave her comfort and refuge was the Catholic Church. Sometimes, I found her exceedingly pious, but today I understand her much better. While I was able actively to play out my newly awakened ambitions and to return to my education, her role had become that of a servant. Only later did she find her way back into music.

Meanwhile, countless numbers of people carrying goods to swap, swept into nearby villages in order to bring home food supplies. The living conditions for farmers in the countryside were better than those of city dwellers, as they were mostly self-sufficient. Therefore, having good connections to those farmers was worth a fortune!

And soon enough, it turned out to be a blessing when, in September of 1945, my mother sent me to Ehingen, near the familiar Abbey of Untermarchtal, to continue my education at boarding school.

Even though I was familiar with the neighbourhood, I did not feel comfortable being so far away from my family. At the age of 14, I was on my own again.

My family rented a room for me in the flat of a nice elderly lady. I had to make breakfast, and for lunch I went to the local inn called ‘Zum Schwert’; my laundry was outsourced. During the week, I studied Latin, Greek, French and English at school. My cello came to good use when performing for the Catholic Youth Group and during Church concerts. During school breaks, I initiated deals with my schoolmates, whose parents were mostly farmers. They owned cattle, poultry, fields with vegetables and trees full of fruit. Thus, my career on the black market had started and was soon to become my biggest hobby!

During a visit at home, my mother had handed me some precious crystal bowls to swap for food. With those I would go to the local butcher and wait for all the customer to leave, before showing him the bowls and asking him to swap them for meat. The transfer went well, and I received a large piece of pork, together with lard for frying. At that time, both was worth a fortune, which I right away brought home to my mother who then prepared a Sunday feast for the entire family.

With one classmate, I exchanged beef for three cartons of cigarettes. His parents owned a big farm, and I was even allowed to choose my own beef. At night, the cow was slaughtered, and I had to stir the blood until it became solid, and until I had turned white from sickness. Afterwards we drove the meat to a butcher in Ehingen, where it was smoked that same night and the filets cut off separately.

On the weekend, I would put the smoked meat into a wicker basket and take it to Wiesbaden. Sometimes I would also carry fresh meat, all of which was highly sought after in my hometown. Some was for my family, the rest was reserved for my deals at the local Black Market. Ehingen was a precious source.

One day, on my way from Wiesbaden to Ehingen, I took a break in Frankfurt to visit the Zoo. To my surprise, I suddenly saw my little brother Klaus, aged eight at the time, riding an auto scooter, instead of attending coaching lessons in Wiesbaden. Perhaps he was encouraged by my activities to also go his own way.

On several occasions, I let my siblings join me for a taxi ride from Wiesbaden to Frankfurt-Zeilsheim. There I met a Polish businessman who had offered me several different goods. While I was exchanging goods and bargaining with the man, my siblings were waiting for me outside the little village, each one provided with a scoop of ice-cream, which, I believe cost some 20,00 German Mark each. The taxi was always an Opel Admiral, running on two gas bottles located on the roof. Due to working on the Market, I owned quite a lot of money which, however, was not worth very much.

I organised a huge variety of things! For example, the transportation of 500 kg of apples from the Allgäu to Wiesbaden on a small lorry, and some small heaters for my freezing neighbours in Ehingen, which I had carried on my bike, piece by piece from Ulm, some 25 kilometers each way. Often, I hung on to the back of a lorry, which was extremely dangerous. On another occasion, I could not resist buying a pair of beautiful English riding boots in which I proudly roamed the area. But it was exactly this kind of vanity, which would soon be my downfall, because my shiny boots did not only attract some nice girls, but also the Police. They often controlled people at railroad stations, because everyone returned from the countryside with heavy rucksacks full of goods. I had already had to leave behind luggage filled with precious lard several times on the train, when I saw Policemen waiting outside. Black marketeers had to face serious punishment when caught.

Thus, one day, upon changing trains in Frankfurt, with a suitcase full of beef filets and wearing my shiny boots, I suddenly felt someone putting his heavy hand on my shoulder, asking in a strict tone, “Young man, what have you got in that suitcase?” I turned round, saw a policeman in front of me and tried to look profoundly innocent. “Why are you asking?”, was my question, upon which he replied, “Because blood is dripping from it.” And indeed, there was dark-red fluid dripping on the pavement. “Oh, this is just red beets”, I tried to explain. Nevertheless, I had to open my suitcase, and the policeman not only detected a big piece of raw, bloody meat, but also some chocolate and cigarettes, all of which clearly identified me as a black marketeer. I was arrested and put into a dark prison cell for one night – my only night on straw. The very next morning a police car took me to Frankfurt-Hoechst to an institution for young criminal offenders, where I would remain in custody for seven weeks. However, three full weeks went by before the Police informed my parents about my whereabouts! They, of course, were worried to death about me and had already thought I was dead. They had even started a radio search – to no avail.

In prison, we did not have much to eat. Owing to my good behaviour, I was selected to distribute bread and collect people’s chamber pots. I was even allowed to play the organ in the prison Chapel.

When I looked outside an aisle window and saw a man cleaning the street, I thought I would rather be cleaning streets for a living than being a prisoner for one more day!

The black market system also flourished within the prison walls. The Police themselves were involved, which does not reflect any good light on these post-war years, when everyone tried to simply survive economically difficult times – or to become a profiteer from them. Justice tried to prevail and restore law and order, consequently even juvenile offenders landed in jail.

Luckily, I was not sentenced, but was enlisted for social work as a form of compensation for my wrongdoing.

These seven weeks would become a lesson for my entire life. Bunk next to bunk, four prisoners would lie next to each other in one cell. Towards the end of week seven, I was taken to the station, in handcuffs, together with a few others and sent to Siegen in a Prison Night Train. There, we spent the rest of the night under green blankets in a prison room with some 30 other people, all in one line. Next to me, one man lay quietly and hardly moving at all. Suddenly, the British Police picked him up. “Where did they put him?”, I asked the others the next morning, upon which I was told, “He was shot last night”. Apparently, he had stabbed his girlfriend, which, in those times, meant the death sentence. He had spent the last hours of his life next to me, and I did not even know what fate he had before him. How terrible to have to wait for your own death sentence to be carried out!

On the following morning, I was taken to Oberhausen, and then, finally, came the day of my release. After seven weeks, the cell doors were opened, I was given my belongings and was allowed to march through the gate to liberty. My father was already waiting for me there and, in tears, we embraced each other. I have known ever since that freedom is one of the most precious values we have. This was in 1946 when I was 15 years old.

I had developed abilities which many people thought astonishing, to say the least. I was proud to support my parents and my siblings, and I had become aware of one thing that really counts in life: having a close relationship with your family. As a result of my ambition paired with fearlessness, I had put myself in a difficult position, and yet, I felt stronger and more mature afterwards, and I am very grateful to my parents for their understanding. It was them who believed in me, thereby protecting me from evil. At the time, I felt a constant restlessness within me, which had also driven me on.

Today, I sometimes see a strong sense of insecurity experienced by us children of the war, even though, in hindsight and when asked, all of us would probably consider our lives as ‘normal’. And yes, life went on, but it was characterised by deep breaking points. Our parents had to redefine themselves and their lives, and we all saw some sort of finality before us.

With all this in mind, we tried to make the best of it, and also to fully and entirely focus on our proper goals in life.