Forgotten Land (35 page)
Authors: Max Egremont
In 1945, there was little sympathy for the expelled Germans, after the recent brutal German occupation when some six million Poles had been killed. The evictions had the support of all Polish post-war politicians, communist or non-communist – and by August that year much of the forced change had taken place. The Poles were even more relentless in their persecution of the Germans than the Red Army had been, and in some places the Russian soldiers were seen as protectors. By the end of 1945, tens of thousands
of Polish settlers from the east had come to the old East Prussia – to towns like Drw
ck and Lidzbark Warmi
ski, often after terrible journeys. The winter of 1946 – 7, when the changes continued, was as cold as that of 1945 – 6, and many Germans herded into the railway carriages died on the journey west. Some Masurians managed to stay, like the old lady at Drw
ck, because of their Polishness. It was part of the realization of a homogeneous population, mentioned to me several times: without Jews or Germans or Ukrainians – a dream of Poland for the Poles.
of Polish settlers from the east had come to the old East Prussia – to towns like Drw
ck and Lidzbark Warmiski, often after terrible journeys. The winter of 1946 – 7, when the changes continued, was as cold as that of 1945 – 6, and many Germans herded into the railway carriages died on the journey west. Some Masurians managed to stay, like the old lady at Drwck, because of their Polishness. It was part of the realization of a homogeneous population, mentioned to me several times: without Jews or Germans or Ukrainians – a dream of Poland for the Poles.Many of the new arrivals thought that they would not be there long because the Germans would come back. Within the new Federal Republic, organizations of former German inhabitants of the eastern lands called for their return and opposed official recognition of the new borders. After 1945, the new Germany absorbed some twelve million refugees from the old east, nine million of these in the Federal Republic or West Germany – ethnic Germans from Hungary, Rumania and Yugoslavia and former German territories like East Prussia. Konrad Adenauer, who became chancellor in 1949, wanted to anchor a peaceful country among its new European allies. But to the expelled Germans, or to their spokesmen, the war was not over; what had happened to them, many thought, was the temporary triumph of the Asiatic hordes. To join NATO, as the Federal Republic did in 1955, was fine – but there should be no recognition of the eastern frontiers or closer links to the communist east. They called for
Heimatrecht
, or the right to one’s homeland. Some of the younger expelled people also said that they should not be held responsible for what may have been done by their parents’ generation.
Heimatrecht
, or the right to one’s homeland. Some of the younger expelled people also said that they should not be held responsible for what may have been done by their parents’ generation.
One determination was to hold onto memories; to forget would be the ultimate surrender. This could anaesthetize the present through dreams of a fabulous past. In 1983 the poet Gertrud Papendick recalled the Königsberg of her youth, before it had disappeared behind frontiers and closed military zones, so that ‘we could find it again, not lost and not damaged, and all as it
once was …’ – an idea made more powerful by its impossibility. Another poet, Agnes Miegel, wondered why God had turned against the land’s blameless victims and vowed to keep her old home alive in her work. Hans von Lehndorff acknowledged German guilt. In his new home in the Rhineland in the 1970s, he reflected that Steinort (now the Polish Sztynort) would have been his as a result of the deaths of brothers and cousins, including Heinrich, who’d been murdered by the Nazis. If the Germans hadn’t been expelled, these tragedies would have made him heir to the park with its four-hundred-year-old oaks, the lakes, the manor house, ‘the great wilderness’. All this had been – and (in Lehndorff’s heart) still was – his home. Partly because his Christian principles rebelled against the ownership of so much, he didn’t want it back – but it remained shining within him.
once was …’ – an idea made more powerful by its impossibility. Another poet, Agnes Miegel, wondered why God had turned against the land’s blameless victims and vowed to keep her old home alive in her work. Hans von Lehndorff acknowledged German guilt. In his new home in the Rhineland in the 1970s, he reflected that Steinort (now the Polish Sztynort) would have been his as a result of the deaths of brothers and cousins, including Heinrich, who’d been murdered by the Nazis. If the Germans hadn’t been expelled, these tragedies would have made him heir to the park with its four-hundred-year-old oaks, the lakes, the manor house, ‘the great wilderness’. All this had been – and (in Lehndorff’s heart) still was – his home. Partly because his Christian principles rebelled against the ownership of so much, he didn’t want it back – but it remained shining within him.
The German travel magazine
Merian
had an issue on East Prussia in 1953 – when northern Poland and Kaliningrad were both closed to Germans. By then, a salvo of new names had hit the region. Under the Russians, Königsberg became Kaliningrad, Insterburg dissolved into Chernyahovsk, Gumbinnen into Gusev, Tilsit into Sovetsk. The Lithuanians changed Memel to Klaip
da; the Poles turned Allenstein into Olsztyn, Heilsberg into Lidzbark Warmi
ski and (in a particularly well-targeted assault) Rastenburg, once the town nearest to Hitler’s eastern headquarters, into K
trzyn, after Wojciech K
trzy
ski, the Polish nationalist who’d been born with the German name of Adalbert von Winkler. Further west, near the old Danzig (transformed into the Polish Gda
sk), Marienburg, the fortress of the Teutonic Knights, perhaps the greatest symbol of German conquest, became Malbork.
Merian
had an issue on East Prussia in 1953 – when northern Poland and Kaliningrad were both closed to Germans. By then, a salvo of new names had hit the region. Under the Russians, Königsberg became Kaliningrad, Insterburg dissolved into Chernyahovsk, Gumbinnen into Gusev, Tilsit into Sovetsk. The Lithuanians changed Memel to Klaip
da; the Poles turned Allenstein into Olsztyn, Heilsberg into Lidzbark Warmiski and (in a particularly well-targeted assault) Rastenburg, once the town nearest to Hitler’s eastern headquarters, into Ktrzyn, after Wojciech Ktrzyski, the Polish nationalist who’d been born with the German name of Adalbert von Winkler. Further west, near the old Danzig (transformed into the Polish Gdask), Marienburg, the fortress of the Teutonic Knights, perhaps the greatest symbol of German conquest, became Malbork.Merian
, however, stuck to the old names, as if there’d been no change. The issue was filled with pre-war photographs of Königsberg, Marienburg and other towns – and of the landscape of the lakes, the coast and the Spit. The Tannenberg Memorial, complete against a darkening sky, was on the cover. The first article said that the eastern cities were entirely German in origin; before them there’d been nothing but a barren place. These had, through
the ages, often been destroyed. The scarred, vanished world, it was implied, could again be rebuilt.
, however, stuck to the old names, as if there’d been no change. The issue was filled with pre-war photographs of Königsberg, Marienburg and other towns – and of the landscape of the lakes, the coast and the Spit. The Tannenberg Memorial, complete against a darkening sky, was on the cover. The first article said that the eastern cities were entirely German in origin; before them there’d been nothing but a barren place. These had, through
the ages, often been destroyed. The scarred, vanished world, it was implied, could again be rebuilt.
One
Merian
contributor reached back to a pre-nineteenth-century Königsberg, before industry and new building had defiled it, returning to his own memories of what seemed a dream through the dust and ashes. Another, Agnes Miegel, wrote about her beautiful childhood, on the Kneiphof, the island on the Pregel and site of the cathedral and Königsberg’s oldest part. A fortuneteller had once said, while holding Miegel’s ‘young sun-burnt hand’, ‘By flowing water, not between flowing waters, were you born. Don’t allow yourself to go away from flowing waters.’ But there couldn’t be any advice in
Merian
on how to get to the places described, for the whole of old East Prussia was out of bounds to Germans, completely closed.
Merian
contributor reached back to a pre-nineteenth-century Königsberg, before industry and new building had defiled it, returning to his own memories of what seemed a dream through the dust and ashes. Another, Agnes Miegel, wrote about her beautiful childhood, on the Kneiphof, the island on the Pregel and site of the cathedral and Königsberg’s oldest part. A fortuneteller had once said, while holding Miegel’s ‘young sun-burnt hand’, ‘By flowing water, not between flowing waters, were you born. Don’t allow yourself to go away from flowing waters.’ But there couldn’t be any advice in
Merian
on how to get to the places described, for the whole of old East Prussia was out of bounds to Germans, completely closed.
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