The Other and I E-Book

Axel Schauder

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 362

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

When Axel Schauder, author and first-person narrator of this very special, biographical novel, looks back on his life and that of his family, there is a lot to tell: not only the problematic relationship with his father, but also, among other things, the escape from the GDR and various experiences with women in his youth shaped him. The reader gains deep, honest and moving insights as they get to know the many people who have played an important role in the life of the first-person narrator. The story is repeatedly traced back to the starting point, namely the relationship with him, his father.

Leseprobe

Any inconsistencies in the text are due to the fact that it was translated using computer-aided technology for a company-wide study.

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List of names

List of the most important names that appear in the story:

Ada:

Sister of the first-person narrator and author and daughter of Strickchen from her first marriage

Albert:

Baron von Hoyningen Huene, second husband of Dora

Axel:

Albert's son from his first marriage, and thus later Strickchen's stepbrother

Axel Schauder:

The author and first-person narrator, Strickchen's son from her first marriage

Bernd von Hoyningen Huene:

Nephew of Albert von Hoyningen Huene, who lived in West Berlin

Bobby Scholz:

Owner of a beach villa and guesthouse in Heringsdorf on the Baltic Sea

Charles:

Marion's ex-boyfriend, whom she had met in Paris and who was Jutta's father

Dora:

Mother of Strickchen, née Kürsten, widowed Baroness von Bistram (Strickchen was the only child of this first marriage), married in second marriage to Albert Freiherr von Hoyningen Huene

Elfriede:

Mother of him, the father of the first-person narrator

He:

Father of the first-person narrator and author, whose real name was Horstdietrich Konrad Schauder

Erich:

Nominal uncle of the first-person narrator, who lived with Elfriede and Herbert in a three-way relationship

Ernst Langner:

Very wealthy art dealer from Dresden

Frank Thoma:

Short-term work colleague of the first-person narrator and former partner of Marion

Miss Mia:

Bobby Scholz's employee, with whom he, the first-person narrator's father, had a fleeting love affair

Fred Raumann:

Truck driver and short-term work colleague of the first-person narrator

Hanna:

Strickchen's student friend from her time in Berlin

Henriette Sparmann:

Wife of jeweler Hans Christian Sparmann from Dresden and one of the lovers of the first-person narrator's father

Herbert:

Father of him, the father of the first-person narrator

Ina:

Daughter of the haulage contractor with whom the first-person narrator was briefly employed

John:

New boyfriend of Mr. Walker's daughter

Jörg:

Strickchen's second husband, who was originally called Georg Sackenheim and took Strickchen's family name when he married, henceforth calling himself Georg Freiherr von Bistram

Jutta:

Marion's daughter, who wanted nothing more to do with her mother until the end of her life

Lena:

The first-person narrator's fiancée, who later fell in love with her boss, a doctor from Munich

Margot Wehn:

Godmother of Strickchen from Dresden

Martin Schuhrag:

Very wealthy weaving manufacturer from a small town near Dresden

Marion:

Former partner of Frank Thoma, with whom a brief love affair developed with the first-person narrator, and who later died of cancer

Mill:

Another hotel guest in Salzburg, who let his friends call him "Mill", but was actually called Milleman

Mr. Walker:

A hotel guest who was staying in Salzburg with his wife and daughter, coming from London

Otto Rosenmann:

Hanna's future husband and timber manufacturer in Upper Bavaria

Peter Wehn:

Margot's husband and very wealthy textile merchant from Dresden

Raboschowsky:

Authorized signatory at Otto Rosenmann, who became romantically involved with Hanna and moved to Hamburg

Rose von Hoyningen Huene:

Wife of Bernd von Hoyningen Huene

Samier:

A fellow student of the first-person narrator, with whom he went on a trip to Salzburg

Strickchen:

The mother of the first-person narrator and author, who had taken her maiden name again after her divorce and from then on was called Irmgard Gabriele Freifrau von Bistram. She later adopted the pen name "Nina"

Winkler:

His friends called him "Sepp" and he was the manager of the farm belonging to the doctor from Munich with whom Lena later fell in love

Foreword

I walk across the road from my grandparents' house in a village near Dresden. When I reach the other side, I cross a small, narrow, old, rusty iron bridge with railings and wooden planks that leads across a mill race to a meadow slope. I lie down there. My skinny little body, not quite four years old, slowly starts to move, rolls sideways down the slope, getting faster and faster and faster and then even faster, finally slower again, and now all the joy is over. Now I'm lying on the meadow in the tall grass, very still, my legs and arms spread out, my gaze directed towards the sky, where the white clouds are driven by the wind, forming ever new fantasy figures, which soon disappear again, making way for new forms, which in turn dissolve, but remain in the child's imagination to become stories; just like figures that are strung together, always becoming stories.

Next to me is an old apple tree, already a little crooked, its numerous fruits are not quite ripe yet, but it won't be long now; they are August apples and it is July, July 1948 to be precise. They will be small red-striped apples with a scent that I will never forget for the rest of my life. Intense scents that you inhaled once in childhood and that are associated with formative experiences are something you never get rid of. Wherever you encounter them later, in all situations in life, they will remind you of these formative events. Even now, after more than seventy years - I often played the "Kuller" game back then and the old apple tree still stands - those cloud images still appear to me when I eat those apples.

Back then, I would sometimes lie on the grass like that for a long time, a little dizzy at first, gradually allowing myself to dream children's dreams - not just happy ones. Thoughts, also of my mother, whom I rarely saw at that time. She was usually out and about, for example, bartering with farmers to get hold of something edible, because we didn't have any money, or "stubbling" harvested fields with other women. Then she would sometimes come home in the evening with a small bag of ears of grain, after maybe ten or fifteen hours away.

We never found out what was done to her, the then young and wonderful woman, by Russian soldiers on the road in the post-war period, and how she still managed to bring home the small bag of ears of grain or perhaps ten potatoes or five carrots or three eggs. She kept quiet about it for the rest of her life. But sometimes I saw her, her stony gaze fixed on nothing, tears on her cheeks, and I was almost afraid of her. My grandmother was able to break this "rigidity" in her by simply holding her in her arms without saying a word until it stopped. Temporarily. It never really stopped - not until the end of her life.

Or thoughts of my father, whom I didn't even know at the time, only from stories, as he was still a prisoner of war in Russia. I wondered what he looked like, if and when he would come back. Would he give me a hug like the fathers of other children in the village did?

At that time, I had another person who had a formative influence on me: my grandfather. Never in my later life have I met a person who radiated as much kindness as this grandfather, especially towards me. No loud words, no scolding, nothing that could ever have hurt me.

In 1952 - I was a good 7 years old - he died and I was forbidden to attend hisfuneral and memorial service "out of consideration for the child". I still haven't got over this well-intentioned but fatal decision by my parents.

In 1993, 41 years later - all of the GDR's misery was over - I bought back my grandfather's old house with my wife. It was an almost uninhabitable ruin. The property had become a garbage dump. But it is the house where I was born, and more importantly, it is my grandfather's house. The millrace with the bridge no longer exists and the orchard has become wooded wasteland.

It took two years to rebuild and instead of the former laundry room there is now a second small house where we occasionally go on vacation.

It was there that I was reunited with my grandfather - after seven decades. How he played with me in the garden - the garden, which we restored to the way he once left it by the way, to the horror of all the "experts". Or how I was allowed to ride into the village with him, sitting on the pannier rack of his old bicycle:

"Always spread your legs wide so they don't get caught in the spokes!"

Or how I was allowed to go for a walk with him, he with a walking stick, me holding his hand, with a Tyrolean hat on my curly head.

And the apple tree?

At some point, we decided to create an orchard again, just as it was back then. All the forest trees had to be felled and the small former meadow gradually emerged again.

And who else was standing there at the very edge? A ruined tree, consisting only of thick bark, more crooked than itever was, mossy on the outside, hollow on the inside - the apple tree! Large, dead branches all around, but the crown at the very top is still full of life and - it's hard to believe - even bears a few small red-striped apples. And the scent is reminiscent of the white clouds of my childhood.

It probably can't stand much longer, but at its side, at the very bottom, a wild shoot is growing from the root - will this be a new apple tree?

A specialist has now grafted this wild shoot with cuttings from the old tree, so that the variety and the fragrance are preserved even if the old tree collapses one day.

And?

I took some scions from the old tree home to North Frisia in 2012. Gardener Boysen used them to graft a strong young tree, which was a success.

So the apple tree lives on, the old one probably not for much longer. And the scent that inspired childhood dreams remains. It can now bring joy to other children's hearts, because the white clouds still drift, still inspire dreams, still form figures that pass as quickly as they were created and that become stories, even if times have changed and with them the content of the stories.

I. Part

Chapter 1:

Returned home

He came up the stairs that led to the attic. There was the children's room that I shared with my sister, who was four years older than me. A small room, the floor covered with a straw carpet, two children's beds one behind the other, with fairytale figures painted by my mother on the sloping ceiling. There were two arched windows facing the garden, through which I could sometimes see the moon from my bed at night, there were no curtains and no heating. We were given bricks to put in our beds, which were heated beforehand on the living room stove and covered with a sofa blanket so that we didn't burn our feet in bed, but the warmth lasted as long as possible.

It was winter, winter 1949, late at night. We had been waiting for him all day, but in vain. There had been no word from him as to when he would arrive. How could he! Telephone lines were no longer available in our village. If there had been any before the war, they had been destroyed and the equipment had been taken away by the Russians. Legally or illegally, nobody knows anymore.

His telegram, which had arrived the day before, did not state a time of arrival.

Us: That was my grandfather Albert, my grandmother Dora, my mother, called Strickchen, my sister Ada and me.

But now he was there. His footsteps came slowly closer, he was wearing jackboots, the narrow, old, well-worn wooden staircase squeaked much louder than it did when we ran up it. My mother came up behind him.

Now he stepped into our nursery. He was tall, almost two meters, but emaciated. Four years as a Russian prisoner of war -much of it in Siberia - had taken their toll on him. In the ten years that had now passed since the start of the war, he had only had two or three furloughs, the last time in the spring of 1944, after which he had never returned. I was born in December 1944, so he had never seen me before.

He was still wearing his old, now shabby non-commissioned officer's uniform. In one hand he held his cap, with the other he ran his hand carefully over my curly head and looked at me for a long time. Then he said:

"So that's my son!"

Was he disappointed? It almost seemed that way. Had he imagined a healthy, happy child? And now this? A hard of hearing, rather anxious and a little awkward boy, marked by dysentery, post-war hunger and rickets? Who didn't fit in at all with his father's hopes?

On top of that, I had just had a severe whooping cough and a protracted middle ear infection. From then on, I had to be spoken to loudly. Even so, I understood very little most of the time, except for my grandfather, whose sonorous voice with a Baltic accent seemed the clearest to me.

My mother stood behind my father and said nothing. He said:

"I've brought you something."

He unbuttoned his right jacket pocket, went inside and pulled out a few pieces of sugar cubes wrapped in parchment. Weeks before his release, he had started exchanging bread for these sugar cubes with his fellow prisoners to give to his children as presents. He put the little packets in my children's hands. But I couldn't do anything with them because I had never seen sugar cubes before.

Then he went on to my sister. He lifted her out of bed, took her in his arms, kissed her, it was an indescribable joy of reunion. He sat on the edge of her bed for a long time and she sat on his lap. He reached into his jacket pocket againand more wrapped sugar cubes appeared. They laughed and joked. It didn't stop until my mother reminded him that the children should probably go to sleep now. Once again, he walked slowly past my bed, his eyes fixed on me, my mother followed behind him, she kissed me goodnight and then they closed the door behind them. I could still hear them both walking down the stairs, then everything was quiet. My sister probably fell asleep soon, but I lay awake for a long time, longing for my infinitely beloved grandfather, who deliberately didn't want to take part in this greeting and whom I missed very much that evening.

Chapter 2:

Who has returned home?

He was born in Gabel, Guhrau district, Silesia in 1917 and grew up in a middle-class, very strict home. His father was a teacher, his mother a respectable farmer's daughter. The adolescent was not exactly his father's favourite, rather the opposite. He was often chastised, even beaten up, while his sister was spoiled. His mother suffered greatly from this injustice and from his father's irascibility towards the boy. His sister died at the age of eleven from a childhood illness that was accompanied by a high fever, which literally traumatized his parents. From then on, he, the unloved one, also felt the pain of his parents over the unspeakable loss of his sister, which meant that he could now do whatever he wanted, his father never liked it and he was constantly punished harshly, especially by his father, for trivialities. One day he didn't tell the truth for fear of being beaten. When his father finally found out, he had his hair cut off as a sign of his shame after the caning, and now he had to walk around for months as a liar, a bald head. Naturally, he was teased at school because of his bald head, quickly became an outsider and found it hard to fit in. But what happens to someone who is so tormented by their parents, especially their father, who no longer has any school friends or a beloved grandfather - as was the case with me? And what becomes of such a child?

At the beginning of the 1930s - he had long since been able to free himself from his parents' home - he moved to Berlin and had the supposed good fortune to find an apprenticeship at the Nobelhotel Adlon, of all places. Now, for the first time, he got to know life from a different, completely new perspective.

The Adlon, not far from the Brandenburg Gate and the Reichstag, was frequented by high-ranking political figures, including some very fateful ones, as would soon become apparent, from the worlds of business and finance, artists from all walks of life, including and especially from the emerging film business and, not to be forgotten, the high nobility and occasionally the landed gentry. The Adlon was the first address for all these people. It was more or less always fully booked. This so-called elite liked to keep to themselves at a time when National Socialism was on the horizon. They had different problems to the rest of the population. In these circles, there was no unemployment, no lack of money, no fear of how the next month would be spent. All was well with the world, or so it seemed.

And although he was only an apprentice, he was suddenly right in the middle of it. Everywhere smelled of prosperity, money didn't matter. Frugality, as exemplified in his staid parental home? Forget it!

In the meantime, he had matured into a young, handsome man of almost one meter ninety. A young girl crush! At barely sixteen, he was already sporting an upper lip beard, which was fashionable; his wavy hair was parted on the left and polished with pomade. During the day, and sometimes in the evening, he waited tables, learning manners, which was important because the amount of tips depended on it, but - no less important - so did the affection of young ladies.

The illustrious Adlon audience sometimes included students or, less and less frequently, upper-class daughters from the barely existing wealthy middle class, but at least they still existed, and they were not indifferent to the sight of him, his demeanor, his entire appearance.

People often spent time in the hotel's afternoon café, an exquisite room with a view of the wide cobbled street that leadsto the Reichstag. With a modest pot of coffee, which even students could afford from time to time, it was possible to endure this affluent atmosphere. People would meet up for a chat and enjoy the big world for a few hours.

This Adlon society also included the young art student Hanna, daughter of a wealthy brewery owner. Hanna was a real beauty with her long jet-black hair, big blue eyes, luscious mouth and shapely décolleté. But she also had just about everything else in the right place in just the right amount. In addition, she was always dressed very fashionably but elegantly and in the best quality, and her gait was simply sensational. The conversation of the men in the café often became conspicuously quieter, sometimes she even fell silent as she walked, strolled, almost floated through the room.

Every now and then, Hanna brought her student friend Irmi, who was called "Strickchen", but nobody really knew why.

Strickchen was small, very slim, slimmer than Hanna and petite, almost fragile, but only in appearance. Her long brown hair curled over her shoulders. Impressive strong eyebrows arched over her dark brown, large eyes. Strickchen liked to powder her nose, which she thought was a little too big and shiny, but actually wasn't, and she painted her striking, full-lipped mouth bright red. That was fashionable at the time. Her long fingernails were usually the same dark red color, as were her toenails.

Strickchen was a baroness. She came from an old Baltic aristocratic family. After the First World War, numerous aristocratic landlords from the Baltic states were expelled by the Bolsheviks and Strickchen's biological father, Ernst Freiherr von Bistram, had the great good fortune to find a home with his family on the manor of his brother-in-law,Egon Kürsten, near Dresden after fleeing. Strickchen had a wonderful childhood there, which was, however, overshadowed by her father's early death. He died in 1921 and Strickchen was just three years old, so she hardly knew him.

At the end of the 1920s, Strickchen's mother, Dora, married again, this time to Baron Albert von Hoyningen Huene. Mother and daughter soon left the manor and moved into the country house not far from the manor belonging to her new father, her stepfather, who was an architect by profession and also an amateur painter.

Times were not easy for agriculture in the 1920s. Revenues for agricultural produce were low and many estates only managed to make ends meet by selling land from time to time, but above all by "tightening their belts". The latter was particularly difficult for the Strickchen family, so that the estate finally had to be sold in order to get rid of the accumulated debts.

Strickchen's dreamlike childhood came to an abrupt end, a childhood that would leave its mark on her. The foreword to her later book about the pictures of her childhood, which she would publish in 1998, at the age of eighty, would read:

"Sometimes I manage to return to what happened back then effortlessly. Then I see and feel everything, just like the child I was and still am. I see the land, the house, the animals and the people who surrounded me, I feel my affection, my happiness, my fears and my pain. I have never moved away from it, I have lost nothing."

Hanna and Strickchen enjoyed being served by him in the Adlon café. In addition to the perfect service, he usually also made a few gallant remarks, courtesies that pleased the two young ladies and were reciprocated accordingly, as I said, he was not disliked by either of them. However, his interest focused more and more onStrickchen, which Hanna noticed, and not just benevolently.

Towards the middle of the 1930s, Berlin was in full swing. Preparations for the 1936 Olympics were in full swing, the youth - especially the sports youth - were enthusiastic about the National Socialist regime and everything was gearing up for a gigantic sporting event, an event of a magnitude that had never been seen before in Germany or anywhere else in the world. The advertising machinery had reached an unprecedented dimension, German television was to celebrate its world premiere, radio and press were overflowing with propaganda. Meanwhile, hardly anyone noticed the madness that was actually unfolding in Germany. People were in an Olympic frenzy.

Chapter 3:

Albert

Strickchen had accepted her stepfather, Albert, as her father and his son, Axel, from his first marriage - slightly older than her - had truly become her brother. But for this father - and this was particularly important to him - Strickchen had also long since become a daughter. He made no distinction between his son and her. And he was the gentlest man imaginable. There was never a harsh or even loud word spoken in his house. It could happen that details were discussed with great seriousness, but the kind of heated arguments that could hurt the other person were out of the question. He longed for harmony, and Strickchen's mother had an easy time getting her way. In his capacity as an architect, for example, he had something against open fires in the house. He had seen too many disastrous accidents in his profession caused by incorrectly built open fireplaces. So there were none in his house, much to the chagrin of his wife Dora. She was used to open fires from the manor houses she had lived in before and loved the atmosphere they created, the warmth, the magic that an open fire could spread, the teatimes that could be enjoyed in front of it in the cold season, the classical music in the background from the gramophone that had become fashionable and the intense conversations that could take place.

So one day Albert - from now on I'll call him "Strickchen's father" (which he wasn't really) - had to go away, just for a few days, to Berlin, where he had to gather certain information from the specialist literature in order to carry out a special and unusual assignment at the university there. When he returned home, he was astonished:

His wife was sitting in the entrance hall - you wouldn't believe it - in front of an open fireplace. In just three days, she had managed to have a chimney run through the three floors of the house and a corner fireplace made of reddish brick with white joints, the hearth behind a round arch, installed in the entrance hall. They were just as uninterested in the essential waiting period that had to be observed before the fireplace could be put into operation until the masonry had dried as they were in the legally required inspection by a master chimney sweep. The fireplace burned, it drew wonderfully, she was happy. And Albert? He stood speechless in the house entrance and said after a while in an embarrassed voice:

"But Dora!"

Then he sat down next to her, very close, looked into the fire and fell silent. That was all.

Albert was a very disciplined person, neither vain nor wasteful, rather frugal when it came to his personal needs, but always dressed extremely correctly, even elegantly. He took his profession very seriously because it allowed him to realize himself to some extent. This architectural profession was also a perfect match for his pronounced penchant for perfection. His hobby painting - some of his works have survived to this day - also bore witness to this penchant for perfection; nothing was left to chance.

He reached his office in Dresden, about 15 kilometers from his home, in summer and winter by first cycling to the train station three kilometers away and then taking the train into the city from there. This cost little and kept him healthy. In winter, the journey home from the station in the evening could take an hour, or even longer if it was snowing. At Dora's suggestion, however, and not least at Strickchen's insistence, he decided one day, somewhat against his will, to buy a car,an Opel Olympia, a convertible saloon with a retractable top. "A dream", as Strickchen noted. But no matter how hard Albert tried, he never became an experienced driver. He hated reversing into parking spaces and often needed five attempts or more. The many traffic rules, especially in the big city, simply wouldn't fit into his head, which was so intelligent in other areas. Gradually, the car was more at home in the garage than being used, much to the delight of Strickchen, who was now living in Berlin, where she had just started studying art. Of course, Albert was in no position to deny her, his daughter, the opportunity to borrow the Opel from time to time. Initially, Strickchen went on short trips in the countryside, but gradually she also made the occasional trip to Dresden. Strickchen quickly became a decent driver - which was still the exception rather than the rule in the 1930s - and she certainly knew a lot more about driving than her father. This eventually led to Strickchen having more and more opportunities to drive to Berlin in her Opel, initially to return home the same day, but gradually also to stay in Berlin for two or even several days. For Strickchen, being free and unbound by any railroad timetable was a gain in quality of life of unimaginable dimensions, but not only for Strickchen.

Chapter 4:

In love

In the meantime, Strickchen had fallen madly in love. With him! And he had fallen in love with her! They had become a couple, still unmarried, but inseparable. He was now permanently employed at the Adlon, already earning a reasonable income, she was still a student at the art academy. Now they even had a car, albeit not their own. The world seemed wonderful and boundless. What was brewing in Germany in addition to their happiness was either not noticed or suppressed, not only by the two of them, but also by most other people. Unfortunately!

In the meantime, Strickchen had already introduced him at home. He was soon in and out of his parents' house. Strickchen's mother was particularly enthusiastic about him, his impeccable behavior, his gallant manners and his imposing appearance, while Strickchen's father was a little more reserved.

For both of them, as for most Germans, the 1936 Olympics in Berlin were an absolute highlight. They had managed to get tickets for one or other of the sporting events. This was possible thanks to the connections he had made through his employer, the Hotel Adlon. They traveled in Albert's car. He spent the night at the Adlon. He paid later, and when he did, it was from Strickchen. Everything was fine. What was important to her was her boundless love for him.

Later in life, she would have to ask herself whether this, her all-encompassing devotion, was justified.

In 1938, he was drafted into military service, into the infantry. The training was tough, especially for someone like him who had already been riding the wave of elitism for some time. Suddenly it was : orders, obedience, subordination, floorand toilet scrubbing, barracks duty, through dirt and mud in the field during basic training, dependency from morning to night and from night to morning. Nothing was ever the same again. The old memories of his childhood home, especially of his father, burst forth mercilessly. And his elitist attitude did not make him very popular among the other recruits. On the contrary: wherever he succeeded, his "comrades" sent him into the shit and laughed at him. A possible higher career, for example as an officer, was out of the question, as he lacked the general educational qualifications for it.

Strickchen, however, stood behind him like a rock during this difficult time for him and she was ultimately determined to resist all possible temptations that stood in her way. One of these challenges was a Greek student called Stefan Dragume, who was very interested in Strickchen and came from an extremely wealthy family in Athens. Stefan did everything he could to conquer Strickchen, marry her and, in a way, lay Athens at her feet. A grandiose prospect for Strickchen, considering that she was not exactly averse to wealth and life in the upper circles. But in the end, all the prospects of luxury were of no use, not even the prospect of escaping the impending horror of the looming war catastrophe together with Stefan.

No, the few encounters with him, my father, that his merciless military service allowed, were used for everything her heart and his heart desired. She was determined, also encouraged by her mother, not to give herself completely to Stefan, but to him and only him forever and to build a future together with him.

After all, he had found out that there was a Greek "adversary". Since then, he hated not only him, but also all "bad Greeks" - permanently, by the way,his whole life long. If he wanted to get rid of Stefan, he had no choice but to marry her without further ado.

Strickchen believed that his marriage proposal, which he made one day in her parents' house - roses, dark suit, genuflection, in other words everything that could be mustered in this respect - would fulfill her lifelong dream.

However, the outbreak of war in the fall of 1939 thwarted these plans. Not that he had to go to the front immediately, but the German Wehrmacht, insofar as it had not taken part in the Polish campaign, was put on alert and under these conditions a big wedding was out of the question for the time being.

In the meantime, however, Strickchen converted half the lower floor of her father's house into a separate apartment. To her father's horror, another open fireplace was built in the shape of a halved onion, which was now all the rage in terms of interior design. Furniture was bought in Berlin, including a voluminous settee, upholstered in snow-white fabric with a dark blue pattern and edged with the finest cherry wood, a Chinese table with metal inlays, carpets, large vases made of Meissen porcelain and paintings, including some by Bertling, a Romantic who had lived and painted in Strickchen's home village for a while after the turn of the century.

Strickchen's parents now had to make do with the middle floor of their house; the originally quite spacious entrance hall, which had once been available for all kinds of festivities or even billiard evenings, was now only half the size.

A bathroom, sleeping alcove and a separate studio for knitting were set up in the attic. She had really thought of everything and there were no money worries, not yet!

After finishing her art studies in her home village, Strickchen was the only young woman to join a small group of painters. Further challenges were inevitable.

Chapter 5:

The wedding

He had just been integrated into the high society of the Adlon, but had now ended up in the hated barracks. This meant a life full of privations, unfulfillable longings, plagued by groundless jealousy, not at all to his liking, in a foreign country, only rarely interrupted by heavenly, but far too short weekends. Tensions may have arisen in him that a young person can hardly bear, especially in those days with their many uncertainties.

She, on the other hand, embedded in still unrestricted economic independence, in romantic infatuation, in hope of a future together, accompanied by her parents, who fulfilled her every wish. Her brother was now at officer's school. She was surrounded by the group of artists, in which she was the only young woman, and each of the painters tried to do something with her. She was certainly cheerful and uncomplicated in this group, they painted, they compared themselves to each other, they competed with each other, exhibitions were organized, summer parties were held in her parents' garden, and she certainly flirted a little here and there, but she remained with him with all her senses, unreservedly.

In the year the war broke out, around Christmas, they both decided not to delay the wedding date any longer. Strickchen in particular was the driving force, especially as the civilian population initially noticed comparatively little of the war. Or wanted to notice! After all, Germany had invaded Poland on September 1st, whereupon England and France had declared war on the Germans two days later; however, as the German army was extremely victorious on all fronts at the beginningof the catastrophe and the propaganda was also doing its bit, many people - including Strickchen and her family - still had the impression that the whole thing would be over relatively quickly. Strickchen's brother - now a lieutenant - encouraged the family in this view.

Strickchen not only made wedding plans, but also shaped their future together in her imagination.

After a long search, the wedding date was finally set for March 9, 1940. A wedding at the time when nature was awakening, meadows and forests full of anemones and snowdrops. The now warming rays of sunshine conjured up the first crocuses in the gardens and the last snow had disappeared. The loud and bustling songbirds dominated the natural world. In Strickchen's mind, this was exactly the right atmosphere for her wedding. What's more, her 22nd birthday was celebrated a few days later, so two highlights in one month, wonderful!

He too - now "promoted" to corporal U.A. (non-commissioned officer candidate) - was very much looking forward to his wedding, as it also marked his entry into aristocratic family circles. He would have liked to take the name of Strickchen instead of his family name, but unfortunately this was not possible at the time. Double names were also considered, but in the end all these coveted ideas were thwarted by the naming laws of the "Third Reich".

Still not at the front, it wasn't too difficult for him to get a week's leave around March 9. The weather was relatively warm and sunny and the upcoming wedding kept everyone busy.

The preparations were in full swing, it was to be a highlight, not only for Strickchen, not only for him, but also for her parents, and also for his own, who had only known the new noble familyfrom his few and brief letters, but not in person.

This was at a time of ominous developments that were deliberately played down by radio, newspapers and newsreels, and most people still allowed themselves to be lied to to the effect that the war was being fought heroically and victoriously, and that it could soon be brought to an end by further German victories. After all, prosperity would then be able to develop for everyone in a now larger German Reich. Strickchen's parents - especially her mother, who was persuaded to join the NSDAP without her father's knowledge - believed in this. His brother - now a lieutenant - believed in it. Still! The father was worried to see people disappear from his circle of friends, not just Jews, but the young lieutenant, his son, talked him out of his doubts at every opportunity.

"Think of the jobs, Father, that the National Socialists have created, the order in the country, the youth organizations, the upswing that the Reich has experienced. Think, Father, of the misery that the Treaty of Versaille brought to Germany after the First World War. All that is now being worked through for the better, Father!"

The father didn't believe the son, but he didn't talk against it, he wanted to keep the family peace at all costs. And: the father was afraid!

And he? He was the least aware of the dark clouds on the horizon of the "German Empire of the Aryans". His thoughts revolved exclusively around his personal future in this new aristocratic family.

"Let them bang their heads in Berlin, Paris or London; as long as mine isn't affected, I don't really care. And if people are deported to wherever, if that is true at all, then there will be reasons for it. People who abide by law and order will certainly not be deported," he said to Strickchen.

What a fatal blindness! And he wasn't the only one who thought this way, many others did too. Strickchen's mother Dora, for example, had not been led astray by selfish feelings, but rather believed in the goodness of National Socialism and closed her eyes to the increasingly obvious appearance of the looming horror. Unfortunately, the devastating effects of this way of thinking were always the same in the end.

The church wedding took place in a neighboring village because there was no church in Strickchen's village. He wore a dress uniform, she wore an eggshell-colored, high-necked, floor-length silk dress with long sleeves. The fabric had been donated by her godmother Margot from Dresden, whose husband, Uncle Peter, owned a fabric wholesale business there.

It was a small wedding party, maybe twenty or twenty-five people. They included: Strickchen's best friend, Hanna, who was now married to Otto, a wealthy timber merchant, the small group of artists, which now consisted of four painters, his parents with a nominal uncle Erich, Strickchen's godmother Margot with her husband, Uncle Peter, Strickchen's mother's sister, Aunt Else, with her husband and daughter Marianne, an Aunt Lotte with daughter Usse, Strickchen's brother, Axel, in ceremonial officer's uniform with his wife Charlot and several friends of his parents, some of them from the village. They all arrived at the churchyard, some in large cars - Aunt Margot and Uncle Peter in an American Lassalle, for example - some in two-horse carriages, he and Strickchen in a decorated white wedding carriage pulled by two white horses. As the weather was sunny and already relatively warm, Strickchen only needed a lambskin to cover her legs and a loden cape in a similar color to her dress. He sat next to her in his dress uniform.

The small village church was about half full. The ceremony began with Strickchen being led down the aisle by her father, where he, the groom, was already standing, facing boththe pastor in his floor-length gown, with his solemn expression. Strickchen was very excited and her "yes, I do" came after a seemingly endless, perhaps thirty seconds, while his "yes, I do" rang out with military precision even before the pastor had finished with the question.

Afterwards, flower-bedecked girls from the village lined the way out of the church with their scattered flowers, everything just as Strickchen had imagined and wished, the exhilarating ride home through the gentle nature of the beginning spring, past fields showing the first green, the sky clear, largely cloudless, and the sun radiating a pleasant warmth, underlined by a light breeze.

Meanwhile, a huge table had been set up in the billiard room, at the head of which the wedding couple took their seats, his parents on the right, her parents on the left; so far they had not exchanged a single word with each other apart from the formal greeting, and that was to remain the case for the rest of the day.

Delicacies, delivered and served by a restaurant from Dresden, the like of which had never before been seen in this house in this quantity and variety, were served. The staff discreetly served these dishes and drinks to the guests.

At any rate, real cheerfulness didn't really set in at first. Nominal uncle Erich chatted with Strickchen's father about his new DKW motorcycle, but his father knew nothing about motorcycles and occasionally said "yes" or "no" with a smile when he thought the right moment had come. Conversely, uncle Erich didn't understand anything about architecture and simply didn't answer Strickchen's father at all, but continued his explanations about two-stroke engines undaunted. On the other hand, Hanna and Uncle Peter got on brilliantly, which godmother Margot observed with a certain amount of suspicion. Hanna, the fashion-conscious, very attractive young lady, had plenty to talk about with Uncle Peter - he could have been her father, but still looked dazzling - as he was very professionally connected to the fashion industry. Hanna's husband Otto and her still beautiful auntElse also gradually developed a light, almost exuberant conversation, and so over the course of the afternoon and early evening, the atmosphere was mostly convivial. They chatted about all sorts of things, laughed and toasted each other.

Only his parents made very few contributions to the hilarity.