Children to a Degree - Growing Up Under the Third Reich (2 page)

Karl was more than willing. He was fascinated by what the mind could achieve and control. His father had taught him to read, write and basic arithmetic at the age of five, and since then he had been obsessed with reading. By the age of ten, he had read Schopenhauer and Kant, Tolstoy, Mark Twain, and Nietzsche. He was ready to tackle the New Age.

This first day in the new school year lasted only 3 hours.

The first hour was filled with disciplinary instructions. The next hour with updates from the battlefields and entering the battle lines on the wall charts. The final hour was learning new songs that glorified Hitler and the Fatherland.

“Boy,” said Harold when the boys were dismissed for the day, “Our new teacher got his points across in a hurry. He is also a member of the Nazi party. Did you see the BonBon  (Slang for Nazi emblem) on his lapel?”

Karl nodded his head, “Yes, I did. I don’t think that he will be our teacher for very long.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t really know, but his demeanor was that of an officer, and he might be presently in the reserve. My grandfather told me that all the reserve units are being called up to serve. So I think that Herr Halama will pretty soon have to change his nice suit for a uniform.”

Harold stopped when they reached the Hohenzollerndam.  “We are early. Our mother’s don’t expect us home before noon. Let’s go to the U-Bahn Station (subway station) and see if we can catch a ride to the zoo.”

Karl agreed in an instant. Playing in the subway system was their favorite past time, and it was there that they had met for the first time. That was a few months ago  in the Zoologischer Garten Station (Zoo station). Karl had entered the subway tunnels through a ventilation shaft and walked underground toward the nearest station platform when he nearly fell over Harold, who had entered the system at a different place. They were almost instantly friends when they exchanged their ideas why they were in the tunnel. They both liked the idea of riding for free all around the city. Both of them would enter the system by using ventilation shafts and emergency exits. They would then walk to the nearest station where they would slip up on the platform and then enter a train, all the time trying to be unnoticed by the stationmaster.

Of course, it was untersagt (not allowed) to walk the tunnels. The third rail, the electrified rail, was a potential danger. But this only added excitement to their game. “How can anybody be so stupid to touch or step on the third rail?” Karl had said when they met.

“Yes,” agreed Harold, “When I am home, I don’t stick my fingers in a light socket either.”

This was the start, but there was more to their friendship. They were essentially loners and had no use for any kind of organized activity. One of the activities they avoided was the singing clubs children in their age group belonged to. Karl could not sing, and neither could Harold. When Harold’s parents had changed their apartment, Harold had been transferred to the school Karl attended at that time.

***

One of the class subjects was music. It consisted of singing and learning new songs, which their parents despised because all the lyrics were about marching and fighting. Karl could not understand that he could not start singing when he was ready for it. The idea that he had to wait for the teacher to lift his hand and then wait until the last slow poke in the class paid attention was more than he could stomach.

He liked to do everything fast. So when the teacher announced the title of the next song ……..Karl started immediately to hum it. Very loud and out of tune.  He hummed the melody because he did not know how to whistle; otherwise he would have.

This unruly behavior expelled him from the music class and entitled him to pick up paper in the schoolyard. When it turned out that Harold also sang out of tune, he was ordered to join Karl in the cleanup detail. This cemented their friendship.

“Are you hungry,” Harold asked, pulling a sandwich out of his pocket as they entered the subway system through an emergency exit.

Normally these exits only opened from the inside of the tunnel and led to the rear or the utility basement of an apartment building. They were not marked on the outside, and not locked, but featured a hefty metal handle that had to be moved from below. The boys had overcome this handicap by leaving the handle in the open position. There were not many exits and ventilation shafts they did not know of.

Karl shook his head. His mother not had packed him a sandwich, and when she did, it was only every second day. Food was rationed and scarce. His father, an engineer with precise work habits, had initiated a rationing system of their own. They alternated every other day between two meals or three meals a day. Today it was a three-meal day. Therefore he had not received a sandwich but expected to receive something to eat when he came home.

Harold’s father, on the other hand, was a highly placed civil servant in charge of food supply for the Charlottenburg District of Berlin. Karl suspected that this was the reason Harold had a sandwich every day. And, Harold was always offering to share what he had. 

“I will have lunch and dinner today, and I had a marmalade sandwich this morning,” he told his friend.

They entered the Hohenzollerndam Station, avoided the stationmaster, and took the next train to the Zoo Station. They could have left the station the regular way because there was no check point on the way out, but they walked a few hundred feet underground to an airshaft, which ended inside the zoo property.

Their favorite exhibit was the monkey house, and this is where they went right away. They loved to watch the antics of the spider monkeys, and like always, wanted to stay longer than they had time.

“Let’s run,” said Karl when he saw that the large clock opposite the zoo entrance almost showed 1:00 pm.

On the way home they saw large paper signs being plastered on the walls in the subway station: ‘Careful what you say. The enemy is listening in.’

“What does this mean,” asked Harold, “How can the enemy listen to what I say? I don’t even see an enemy.” He looked questioningly at his friend.

“I don’t know,” answered Karl, “I will ask my grandfather; he can explain things so I can understand them.”

When Karl’s mother opened the apartment door, Karl clicked his heels, stretched out his arm as he had seen the HJ boys do, and shouted ‘Heil Hitler’ at his mother. At first it appeared that he had stunned his mother, but then she laughed.

“Heil Hitler to you too, Karl.” She pushed him towards the small bathroom to make sure that he washed his hands. “Is this all you learned today?”

“No,” answered Karl, “I learned that I should greet you by saying ‘Heil Hitler’, and if you don’t answer the same way, I am supposed to report you.”  Karl beamed at his mother, “Mutti, you know that I would never tell on you. But, I will report the sloppy soap man in the store around the corner if he does not answer in the correct new way.”

His mother looked at him and shook her head, “You will not report anyone, Karl. You will keep your mouth shut and not give in to the Nazi doctrines. Why don’t you like the soap man?”

Karl did not have to think twice, “I think he is a slob. His shoes are always dirty. Even when it does not rain.”

Frau Veth silently agreed that her son was right. The man who owned the soap store was indeed a scallywag. But it was news to her that Karl paid attention to such details.

Karl wanted to know, “What is a Nazi doctrine?”

“It is a lot like a guideline, except that Herr Hitler and his charges are forcing these guidelines on us. When you report people who don’t abide by these guidelines, you become one of the enforcers. Dad and I are not raising you to become an enforcer of the Nazi regime.”

She thought that she had adequately answered Karl’s question. Karl thought for a moment.

“Who are Hitler’s charges, and what is a Nazi regime?” he asked, “I know what an enforcer is,” he added.

Frau Veth handed her son a margarine sandwich, “Here, eat this now. Tonight we have potato soup. I even have a Frankfurter for you. When Dad comes home you can bombard him with your endless questions.” She poured him a small glass of milk, “What else did you learn to day?”

Karl thought again for a moment, “Not much. Herr Halama, that is the name of my new teacher told us nothing that I did not knew already. He also does not tolerate any questions. So I was not allowed to ask. So I did not learn anything new.”

Frau Veth shook her head, “Karl you learn by listening, and if you listen well, you don’t have to ask many questions.”

Karl listened to what his mother said but then objected, “I believe that you are correct, Mutti. I only wish that the teachers would explain better what they are talking about. If they would, then I would not have many questions.”

Two

It was not until several weeks later that Karl had a chance to ask his father the questions he had asked his mother.

His father had been working late and also on the weekends due an increased workload. Karl was always sleeping when his father arrived home.

In the meantime, Karl read everything he could get his hands on in regard to the Nazi doctrine. He read Hitler’s book Mein Kampf three times, because many of the chapters raised more questions than answers, and he had to resort to other books and newspapers to comprehend what he was reading.

He now knew what a doctrine was about but it still left him confused as to the purpose of the present conditions.

None of the different headlines and terms, which dominated the newspapers, explained in simple words why they had less to eat than a year ago. Their family was not exactly going hungry, but down to two meals a day, every other day, made him wonder what would happen next.

“Papa, you told me that the food is being rationed because of the war. Why do we have a war?”

Herr Veth, 33 years old and prematurely gray, had always invited questions from his son. But this simple question stunned him, because he had no ready answer. “This is a complicated question, Karl. I don’t have to work this coming Sunday. We will go to see your grandfather. He will have a better answer than I am able to give you.”

Karl was happy to hear that his parents would visit his grandparents. They did so about every other month. His grandfather was a Prussian cavalry officer, and had told him at one time that there was nothing more horrible than a fight of cavalry against cavalry. He was a master in giving simple examples, which Karl could understand.

“Then you don’t know why we are having a war?” Karl wanted an answer sooner than next weekend.

“Yes, the simple answer is that our Fuehrer has declared a war, but your grandfather will tell you why.”

Herr Veth was uncomfortable with his son’s question because it raised an issue he could not understand himself. Hitler’s propaganda had claimed that Polish troops had crossed the German border and committed atrocities on German civilians. Herr Veth did not believe a single word of it. Ever since the Olympic Games in 1936, Hitler had openly shown the strengths of the German army. There had been countless parades of drill teams, tanks and modern weapons.  All the newsreels of the world had reported about it. Why would a small and badly armed country like Poland provoke a powerful Germany?

“Have you polished my shoes?” he asked his son to divert from the subject.

Karl was surprised by this question. His father owned, besides his Sunday pair, two other pairs of shoes, which he changed daily. Karl could not think of a single morning where he had failed to clean and polish the correct shoes for his father. He was smart enough to realize when he was being sidetracked. It happened a lot lately. Just the other morning he overheard his parents discussing that his mother was pregnant.

“What is pregnant?” he asked, and his mother enquired if he wished a piece of chocolate. While the chocolate was great, and an unusual delicacy, he was not fooled. He went through his father’s dictionary and then asked Harold about it.

“Beat’s me,” said Harold. “I will ask my parents about it. They never sidetrack me.”

Karl laughed, “You know why that is, you dummy. You don’t ask enough questions.”

A day later Harold reported that he had not gotten a direct answer either. “Somehow it has something to do with babies,” he said to Karl.

“That’s what I gathered from our encyclopedia,” answered Karl, “I hope it does not mean that we are getting another child. I already have a three-year-old brother. He is very nice, but small. It will take years until I can talk with him.”

***

Sunday came and Karl stood inside the door of his grandfather’s apartment. Nobody in the Veth family owned a house. They were a second generation of Berliner apartment dwellers and it was always the father’s or the grandfather’s apartment, never the grandparents’, as this would indicate that the grandmother would be equal to the grandfather. Far from it.

Karl was holding the hand of his little brother Willy, and waited patiently. His parents were allowed to enter the living room, which also served as a dining room, while the grandchildren had to stand at the door until the Grandfather allowed them to enter the room. Sometimes Karl had to wait for several minutes while the adults talked. Today, he did not have to wait so long.

“Karl and Willy, you are allowed to enter and may sit on the two chairs at the table but keep your hands where I can see them.” Grandfather Paul was in his typical Prussian Officer mode. Soon after the boys were seated, their grandmother entered the room and handed Willy a coloring book and crayons. The little boy squeaked in delight as he started to thumb through the book.

Grandfather Paul was visibly annoyed. He looked first at Willy and then at Karl’s mother, “I told you before that you don’t need to visit me until you control your latest child. One more outburst from, what’s his name……,” he searched his mind, “anyhow, one more unwarranted noise from him and you can take him home.”

Karl’s mother took Willy on her lap. While she was guiding his little hand with a crayon, she whispered in his ear to be quiet.