Children to a Degree - Growing Up Under the Third Reich (4 page)

“Did you learn anything,” asked Frau Veth after Karl settled down with his grandfather’s new book in the armchair under the reading lamp.

“More than in the last year in school. I also know now what pregnancy means. I just don’t know the exact time frame,” Karl was eager to report.

Frau Veth had heard enough and left the room. When her husband came home, she told him, “You have to talk to your father.”

Three

The next few months were filled with air raid drills. For good measure, every week the schools rehearsed a complete school evacuation exercise. There were three different levels of alarm.

The first level was called “L 30”. It stood for Luftwarnung 30 (Air warning 30). This meant that the enemy bombers were about 30 minutes away from Berlin. It did not necessarily mean that Berlin was the intended target of the bombers. The enemy planes could bypass Berlin on flight to a different destination. However, it meant that the enemy had penetrated the 30-minute air space of Berlin.

This 30-minute warning served to alert the students who needed 30 minutes to get home. These students were permitted to leave the school grounds to get safely to their families. If the “All Clear” sounded within three remaining school hours, the students were required to return to the school and resume their studies.

The second level was called “L 15”, which meant that the enemy was now 15 minutes away. The students who lived 15 minutes away from the school were allowed to leave the schools grounds.

The third level was the full alarm, meaning the enemy was within three minutes away. Bombing was imminent.  Everyone had to seek shelter in the basements.

These rules not only applied to the students but to the teachers as well. As soon as Alarm 30 sounded, the teachers in Berlin pushed the students out of the way and ran home.

“You want to make a bet?” Air warning 30 had just sounded the alarm and Harold looked at Karl hoping to entice him.

“What kind of bet?” Karl asked. He and Harold were with the group of the 15-minute children.

“Which one of the teachers will be the first out of the school?” Harold held a pig's lard sandwich in front of Karl. “The winner gets to eat the Stulle.” (Berlin slang for sandwich)

Karl was a sucker for pig's lard and Harold knew it. “Not fair to tempt me. I'll take the wager. I bet on Herr Halama.”

“That is a sure bet. You have to give me odds.” Harold was licking the lard as it dropped off of the gray rye bread. After the lard saturated the bread, it always started to leak. It was now right at the stage where Karl liked it best.

“I also bet that he will not return to the school today, even if we get an all-clear signal within the next ten minutes.” Karl agreed to give these odds; he could almost taste the sandwich.

Harold did not even bother to think about it. None of the teachers ever returned to the school, even if the alarm was at 8:30 AM and the all clear came at 9:00 AM.

“That’s not a bet Karl and you know it. Here I'll share the Stulle anyway.” He let Karl have the first bite, who tried a second attempt at the bet.

“I also wager that none of the teachers will return today.” It was just a little after 10:00 AM and it was only a drill, but Herr Halama was already out of sight.

“No bet Karl. It will never happen. I just wonder what school will be like when we have real alarms and air attacks.”

He looked at the remainder of his sandwich because Karl had taken an enormous bite out of it. “Here, enjoy the rest. You must be hungrier than I am.”

Karl had to admit that all the odds had been in his favor. Neither he nor Harold had ever seen a teacher returning to class.

“I thought the adults are supposed to set examples,” remarked Harold.

“I don’t know about that,” said Karl. “All I can think is that this rule does not apply to teachers.”

Harold agreed. The teachers seemed to be the ones who made all the rules while at the same time had none of their own. The boys decided to make their way to the local Jungvolk headquarters. Both of them had turned 10 years old during the summer and as mandated in Berlin, had to enroll in the Nazi youth movement.

The enrollment was during the months of September and February. In 1940, different cities and rural areas in Germany had different requirements. The enrollment was not very complicated. For the most part, a modest form letter from the school sufficed. It listed the personal data from the boys including something like a report card. This report card, however, was very important for both of the boys. Along with their grades, it listed comments from their main teacher regarding their behavior during the breaks.

Both of the boys always studied during recess to get ahead of the class. It was their aim to apply to a Napola school. Napola stood for National Political Educational Institution. It was the top cadet school in Germany. However, they had to wait until they were 11 to apply.

The HJ Scharfuehrer (squad leader) in charge of enrollment into the Jungvolk was about 17 years old. Apparently, his name was Rudy Scholz. It was written in bold black letters on a piece of cardboard slanted against an inkwell.

“Heil Hitler,” shouted both boys as they entered his small office at the local police station.

Rudy looked them over before he returned their salute. They looked kind of odd to him because Karl was small and skinny, while Harold was slightly larger than normal.

“Stand three feet away from my desk and stay at attention. Do you know what this means?”

Karl shrugged his shoulders, “No.”

Rudy got up from behind his desk, “I will show you.” He stood straight and erect in front of the boys, his feet about shoulder width apart and both hands folded behind his back.

“This is the correct way to stand as long as you are in the Jungvolk. You will receive your HJ training when you are thirteen years old.”

He sat down again to read the paperwork. “I see that you are studying for the entry exams of the Napola. I assume that you want to excel in sports and physical training. Am I correct?”

Both boys stood as required and looked at each other. Physical exercise was the last thing on their minds. “No,” answered Karl. “Look at me. I am small. I could never compete physically with boys of my age group.”

Rudy smiled as he studied the boys. “I'll give you that,” he said. He looked at his paperwork and then back at the boys. “What about you, Harold? You look like you are strong enough to handle boys in your age bracket.”

Harold again looked at Karl, who shrugged his shoulders. “No, I might like physical endurance training, but physical excellence is not on my mind,” Harold announced.

Rudy was exasperated by their answers.

“The Napola schools train the leaders of the future. One of their requirements is that you are physically fit.” He got up and took a loose leaf binder of a shelf. “Here it is,” he started to read. “The applying student has to prove an Arian lineage dating back at least three generations.” He stopped for a moment, “Hmm, I did not know that. I guess this counts me out from the get go.” He was black-haired, and his eyes were dark and warm. He continued reading out loud. “The student cannot have any physical impediments like bad hearing or poor eyesight.” He stopped again to muster the boys once more before turning back to the manual.

Karl was growing uncomfortable watching Rudy, who now read to himself. He finally could not help himself. He asked quietly, “Is there anything written that I have to be brain dead?” 

Rudy interrupted his reading, “What was that?” In his experience, the little boys enrolling into the Jungvolk had always been shy. Normally they were overwhelmed by his office and most of the time in awe of his uniform. This kid in front of him was clearly not impressed. Rudy felt almost challenged. “Come again?”

Karl tried to lock eyes with him as Herr Halama had taught the boys. “I was asking if I had to be a bully to be admitted.” He rephrased his question to make sure that the HJ leader was getting the meaning.

Rudy laughed, “No, you don’t have to be a bully. Nevertheless, it would help a boy of your dimensions to have some physical training to back up questions like that.” Rudy started to like the boy. He had been put in charge of enrollments because of his natural ability to help the boys get comfortable during this process. “Let’s shelf the questions regarding the Napola and get back to your enrollment.”

He placed the binder back on the shelf and consulted a different one to make sure that he did not miss anything, “First things first. You will meet in this building twice a week in the afternoon. You will be part of a group of about 10 to 12 boys. You will be taught how to stand, how to walk and how to salute. On weekends, your small group will meet with three or four other groups and you will learn how to march in formation.” He glanced once more at the boys, “Any questions? If not, I will see you next Tuesday afternoon at 4:00 PM. You are allowed to be fifteen minutes early but not a single minute late. If you are late you will be given a brush and a bucket of water to clean the sidewalk.”

Karl raised his hand, “When do we get uniforms?”

Rudy opened a draw on his desk and handed each of the boys an entitlement form. “Good question. The purchase of the uniform is the obligation of your parents. At this time of the year you are still required to wear a summer uniform consisting of a pair of black short corduroy pants and the regulation brown uniform shirt. Furthermore, you will need to wear dark brown knee socks and sturdy leather shoes.”

He smiled and almost laughed when he saw the awkward arm movements of the boys who shouted Heil Hitler as they scrambled out of his office. He knew that it would only take a week or two at the most and the boys would know how to salute.

Neither Karl nor Harold owned a watch but they observed the large clock hanging on the outside of a pharmacy near the police station when they returned on the following Tuesday. There were several other boys of likewise age who looked at the clock to make sure they would be on time. Ten minutes before 4:00 PM they went down the street and entered the police station.

A large sign in the hallway directed them to their assembly room.

Each of the boys shouted Heil Hitler when they entered the room and almost poked their eyes out when they extended their arms in an effort to greet each other. Each one of the salutes was returned by a fourteen year old boy who stood next to a desk. He was dressed in the summer uniform and glanced towards a clock hanging on the sidewall. His manners were relaxed and his voice was distinct but friendly. When the clock showed 4:00 PM, he walked to the door and closed it.

“Alright, line up on the walls around the room. The tallest one over here on my left and then the rest of you line up according to your height. Which means the smallest one will be at the far end.”

Karl went right away to the end of the line. Nobody in the room was smaller than he was. Harold, however, stood in front of the line.

“My name is Bernard and you can call me Bernd,” the 14 year old announced. Karl, who had an eye for details, noted that the uniform shirt of Bernd must be either new or starched. It looked flat and unwrinkled.

Bernd picked up a piece of paper from the desk and began reading off names. Every one of the boys answered with ‘
Present
’, except for a heavy-built boy who seemed kind of lost.

“Dieter,” Bernd addressed the boy, who nodded, “Please make it easy and conform to all of us. We answer the roll call with ‘present’. Understood?” He had an infectious smile. The boys lost their initial uneasiness and instinctively warmed up to him.

“We will spend a lot of time together and we will make a good team. We are called a Jungschaft, which is the smallest unit in the Jungvolk.”

Bernd continued, “I am a Jungschaft leader.” He pointed to a red and white cord, which extended from his breast pocket to a center button on his shirt, “This little cord shows you my rank. Dieter, come here next to me.” He gripped Dieter by his shoulders and turned him so that he stood sideways to the boys.

“Extend your arm straight out in front of you. Fingertips at eye level and fully extended. Now click your heels and shout
Heil Hitler
.”  Dieter lost his shyness as Bernd turned him right and left to show the boys the proper way to salute. “Now, all together. Raise your arms like Dieter, who will from now on serve as our salute role model.”

All the boys lifted their arms as instructed. When it came to clicking their heels it was a little difficult to follow the example. It took a few minutes until Bernd was satisfied.

“You are doing great. Next time we will train on this again until it becomes a part of you. For your next exercise, I will show you how to stand and how to walk. I am not talking about marching, I am talking about walking and standing without slouching.”

The next hour and a half passed like a minute. Every one of the boys wanted to please Bernd, who seemed like a brother to them.

“I wished that Herr Halama would be this easygoing,” said Harold as the boys left the police station.

“Now, that would be a stretch,” agreed Karl. “Herr Halama and easygoing does not even sound right. Something is wrong with that.”

They passed a small grocery store that was about to close the doors for the day. The grocery woman carried the vegetable boxes from the outside rack to the inside to lock them up and the grocer was serving his last customers. The sign on the outside showed that the service hours ended at 6:00 PM.

“Let’s have some fun,” suggested Harold. “We should enter the store and yell
Heil Hitler
, click our heels and then walk out again.”

Karl did not think much of the idea, “How can that be fun?” 

Harold did not give up, “Come on, Karl, this would be good training for us,” he grinned at his friend. “We will walk out without buying anything. Just in and out.”

Karl liked the wide grin from Harold but sometimes he thought that his friend had weird ideas, “I don’t have any money to buy anything anyway, do you?”

Harold’s grin faded faster than the daylight, “No, I never have any money. My mom pays me a few Pfennige (pennies) when I do some household chores, but they always disappear in the piggy bank.”