Broken Lives

by Konrad H Jarausch

  The “golden middle years” of the Weimar Republic, between hyperinflation and depression, are therefore remembered as allowing most children to have “a happy, sheltered childhood.” The chaotic beginning of civil war was safely past. The economic and political disasters were yet to come. No doubt, widespread poverty, religious prejudice, and nationalist hatred were rather aggravating and made politics contentious for their parents. But compared with the later suffering, this period permitted a relatively stable life, focused on personal concerns that made childhood “idyllic” in retrospect. With “loving and stimulating parents” as well as compatible siblings, even Jewish Germans could “form a closely knit family” that looked with confidence into the future.26 This upbringing created strong bonds with other family members, durable ties to one’s hometown, and lasting identification with German culture that would be severely tested in the years ahead.

  THE CHALLENGE OF SCHOOL

  Entry into primary school was “a deep caesura” that marked “a new and very important stage of life” for a child. Due to the heritage of the Reformation, German states had already in the eighteenth century developed a system of compulsory primary education for the sake of enabling the faithful to read the Bible in the vernacular. In order not to overburden their mental capacity, pupils were required to attend instruction only during the morning, returning home for dinner at noon and enjoying ample time to play during the rest of the day.27 Due to the cautionary stories of older siblings and friends, the children looked forward with a mixture of eagerness and fear to their first day in an institution that would mark them for life. In order to ease the transition, parents customarily gave anxious sons and daughters such as Ruth Bulwin a surprise cone, filled with sweets and school supplies (image 6). Thus mollified, the beginners would trudge off to the forbidding schoolhouse, carrying leather satchels on their small backs.

  6. Shy first-grader. Source: Ruth Bulwin, Spätes Echo.

  Pupils experienced the whole gamut of primary teachers, ranging from kind and helpful pedagogues to rigid and authoritarian disciplinarians. During the Empire, most instructors were men, but during the Weimar Republic, women made inroads, especially in the lower grades. Most teachers focused their efforts on developing skills such as the multiplication tables, imparting information such as the names of the Prussian kings, or stimulating the mind by, for example, discussing poetry.28 By and large, the teaching methods were still frontal, stressing rote memory and repetition, but there were also “young and modern” instructors who experimented with more informal techniques of progressive education. If a child was lucky, he or she could have a nice teacher who was interested in developing “love of learning,” but there were also many nasty classroom tyrants who enjoyed their power. In contrast to some pupils’ claims of suffering in school, many others “actually liked it pretty well the entire time.”29

  Classes were large, with forty to fifty children, often segregated by gender, making discipline hard to maintain for so many wandering minds and restless bodies. Some inspired teachers managed to hold their pupils’ attention by using novel methods such as impersonations of historical figures in order to hold their interest and inspire their imaginations. But the majority used corporal punishment at every occasion, believing the Greek adage “A man who is not beaten, is not being educated.” Erika Taubhorn remembered that “the boys had to bend over and got two or three strokes with the cane on their bottom. The girls had to stretch out the arms and hands, and the teacher hit them two to three times on the hands and fingertips.” Nonetheless, most of the institutions were “not barbaric beating-schools” and children expected to be chastised for misbehavior, since “discipline and order were emphasized.” In fact, many pupils became successful “doctors, lawyers, or scientists” without being permanently traumatized.30

  The key instructional medium was a black slate with a wooden edge, a stylus for writing, and a sponge or rag for erasing mistakes. “On one side there were lines for lettering, and on the other boxes for computation,” Erika Taubhorn recalled. Children carried their slates to and from school carefully, because they would break if dropped. Learning penmanship was preceded by pictorial examples, such as drawing a big Easter egg on the slate to indicate the letter “O,” the start of the German word Osterei. Figuring required rote memorization of multiplication tables, which were then recited collectively forward and backward.31 The teacher would stand in front of the class, drawing on a big blackboard. However, turning his back invited pranks such as spitballs. If he had a sense of humor, the pedagogue could retaliate by squeezing a wet sponge over a pupil’s head. Teachers also worked with maps and charts, and enlivened their instruction with stories.

  Until the late 1920s “school still seemed to be a space free of politics.” Hans Queiser, who grew up in the Palatinate, remembered that “whatever remotely had to do with politics remained outside; hidden or open religious or political indoctrination did not appear during instruction.” The only image on the wall was of the ancient President Hindenburg, while local studies concerned merely the history and geography of the broader region. Most of the teachers in Protestant areas were liberal or democratic; in Catholic regions, they supported the Center Party. But this apolitical approach “had unintended consequences: Outside of school the children were vulnerable to the increasing nationalist influences” because they lacked “any preparation or personal judgment” in dealing with controversial issues. When the first political slogans entered the world of the children during the Depression, “they were apparently normal national tones” such as pride in “high achievements in athletics and technology.”32 Ironically, the neutrality of the teachers who defended the Republic left the door open to nationalist agitation.

  Finding a place within the class community was not always easy, especially if a child had transferred from out of town or stood out otherwise. One problem was “the social dividing line” between well-to-do and poor pupils, who tended to congregate according to their status rather than crossing class barriers. Ursula Mahlendorf recalled that wealthy children had fancy clothes and spending money, while their poorer classmates were often dirty and lice-infested. Boys, especially, could be quite cruel and make school “almost an ordeal” by picking on spoiled brats for their superior speech and better clothes. Only when Paul Frenzel plucked up his courage and hit a bigger bully back, knocking him over, did “no boy any longer dare to taunt or beat me.”33 Girls, by contrast, tended to be more cliquish, making it important to find a friend to sit next to in order to belong. Classmates also inspired pranks, as when boys threw a folding ladder from a woodpile or girls slid on their satchels down a hill, which resulted in a stern reprimand.34

  With shared interests, school acquaintances could develop into lifelong friendships that weathered dictatorships and war. Girls tended to share their thoughts and feelings with each other. In her private school, Gisela Grothus met the daughter of a Protestant family of Jewish extraction: “In this manner I gained my first close school-friendship with ‘Marthchen’ and often played with her.” The later bond with another girl as “friends of the heart” lasted an entire lifetime as well. Boys looked more for “buddyship” to do things together or for role models whom they could idolize. The young Jew Werner Warmbrunn first befriended a “blond, athletic … leader of the neighborhood gang” and then later admired a “free-spirit” who, as the scion of a noble Nazi family, “cared little of what others thought of him and his actions.” Crossing social boundaries, such youthful friendships expanded horizons and proved essential help in growing up.35

  During the Weimar Republic, most boys and girls were still sent to singlesex institutions, reinforcing the creation of separate gender roles at an early age. While for little children this separation hardly made a difference, for adolescents it was supposed to keep the problems of awakening sexuality out of the classroom. On the one hand, males were supposed to be toughened up in order to become men, ignoring the pain of cuts or bruises according to the a
dage “A German boy does not cry.” On the other, girls had a less demanding academic curriculum, learning instead their roles as future homemakers with classes in sewing, cooking, and the like. Ironically, the sexual segregation created homoerotic friendships, especially evident in boys who were physically attracted to each other in sports or other settings. As a result of being separated, both sexes had some difficulty understanding the other when school segregation could no longer keep them apart and first crushes developed.36

  At the age of ten, children were faced with a crucial decision—which type of education to pursue beyond the fourth grade. In spite of some minor reforms, parents had to choose from among the three-tiered school system inherited from the Empire. For their child to gain access to the higher professions, he or she had to attend the rather selective Gymnasium, a Latin-, modern language–, or science-based high school. If the parents wanted to prepare their children for commercial white-collar pursuits, they tended to pick the less prestigious Realschule, a modern-language secondary school. If they aimed only for blue-collar work, their sons and daughters would continue in the Volksschule, a modest but free primary school. The choice depended not just upon the feared report card, but also on the family’s social aspirations and financial resources. Karl Härtel recalled, “As child of impoverished parents, the possibility of entering a Gymnasium was blocked for me because the monthly tuition of 25 Reichsmark was just not available.”37

  The few pupils fortunate enough to enter a Gymnasium approached the venerable institution with “some palpitations.” First, they had to pass a strict entrance examination consisting of an essay and math problems. Then they confronted a demanding curriculum based on Latin, Greek, or modern languages and complemented by natural science classes. Though the teaching methods were often as antiquated as the buildings, the content followed the neohumanist approach to the classics that created a peculiar blend of enthusiasm for antiquity and individual cultivation, called Bildung. Somewhat overwhelmed, many boys dropped out because they were unable or unwilling to cope with these challenges. But those like Hans Tausch who had “a good memory and could listen well” were able “to cope surprisingly well.”38 Since the Gymnasium was the gateway to an upper-class future, most pupils endured, even if they resented its demands. Girls usually enrolled in easier high schools that did not prepare them for study at a university.

  Less ambitious children tended to choose the Realschule, which had a more modern curriculum but still offered access to middle-class careers. Instead of nine years as in the Gymnasium, this school required only six years of instruction, usually followed by some white-collar training. Because its teaching was oriented toward English and French plus mathematics, many bourgeois parents considered it more practical and pupils understood its occupational relevance more directly. As a result, they met academic requirements more easily, even if performance might vary from a “blue letter” warning of impending failure to the “pleasant surprise” of a more positive report card. When Paul Frenzel turned out to be the second-best in the class, his father immediately suggested additional training in hotel management, which his son stoutly rejected. Attendance at the Realschule was therefore usually “without problems.”39

  The majority of children remained in the Volksschule, a primary school that focused on basic instruction. In contrast to the higher schools, this institution offered only four additional grades until the age of fourteen. Its curriculum centered on learning high German, writing a neat hand, learning about the region, and doing simple math problems. After graduation, most children entered an apprenticeship for a trade, complemented by occupational instruction one day a week in a vocational Berufsschule. During the Weimar Republic, reforms opened the door a small crack to further instruction via “accelerated classes” for exceptional individuals. Often, families chose not to send girls to a Gymnasium because of its fees, making Ursula Baehrenburg cry when her dream of further learning was denied. More resilient characters such as Karl Härtel nonetheless profited sufficiently from primary schooling to train in engineering by showing practical aptitude in their craft.40

  The values that these schools inculcated in their students were fundamentally ambivalent, blending a humanist sensibility with a nationalist orientation. The teaching of German often centered on the classics, memorizing epic poems such as Schiller’s Die Glocke or discussing plays such as Goethe’s Faust, even if many pupils hardly understood their messages. Moreover, religious instruction was part of the regular curriculum, transmitting Protestant, Catholic, or Jewish moral imperatives, depending upon the orientation of the school. At the same time, the foreign language teaching of the high schools did open windows onto not only classical antiquity, but also different contemporary cultures through the reading of Shakespeare or Molière. Nonetheless, there was a strong patriotic strain that emphasized the superiority of German Kultur when reciting romantic poetry or singing patriotic songs such as “Die Wacht am Rhein” on national holidays.41

  The poisonous legacy of the lost First World War turned such pride into a noxious nationalism that made children vulnerable to extremist messages. Eva Sternheim-Peters recalled that the young encountered the debris of the Great War even in their homes, where picture postcards of foreign places, “letters from the front,” photos of uniformed family members, medals for exceptional valor, and even pieces of uniform recalled a heroic struggle. In geography class, the wall maps still contained “the lost territories” and former colonies of the Reich after the “shameful peace of Versailles,” instilling resentment. In history, the “stab-in-the-back legend” claimed that the German Army had not been defeated on the battlefield but betrayed by “November criminals” at home and then subjected to a “war guilt lie” from abroad. Even if moderate Social Democrats pleaded for peaceful under standing, many children developed a “sense of offended innocence” in their patriotic commitment.42

  The transition to schooling therefore proved to be a mixed blessing for those born in the Weimar Republic. Contradicting the literary cliché of suffering in school, there were quite a few kind teachers who made the experience more positive, inducing many memoirists to confess that “I enjoyed school and was quite good at it.” The three-tiered institutions provided children with the basic skills for life, allowing many of them to progress into successful careers. But in spite of reform efforts by progressive pedagogues, Weimar schools were still largely authoritarian institutions that instilled obedience, which hindered the free development of even those who “tried to be a good pupil.”43 In many institutions, the legacy of the lost war transformed love of country into a dangerous nationalism, warping young minds. Because they provided all too few ethical grounds for a cosmopolitan humanism, the schools left most of their pupils at the mercy of National Socialist appeals.

  THE LURE OF NEIGHBORHOOD

  As they grow older, children gradually began to leave the safety of their own homes and explore their immediate environment. Because at this time primary school was rarely nearby, even small pupils had to walk there, often dawdling, looking into shop windows, or gawking at dogs and birds that caught their attention. When they were late, they were inevitably reprimanded to teach them the importance of punctuality. In the countryside, Horst Andrée found walking to school a real adventure when a “mean gander” or a “beast” of a dog from a neighboring farm terrorized him. When their high school was in a neighboring town, older Fahrschüler such as Erich Helmer had to take the train, which allowed them to chat, play games, or do belated homework on the way.44 While getting to school could be a real nuisance in pouring rain or deep snow, these pupils began to develop a sense of independence by commuting on their own.

  During the afternoon when homework was done or parents were busy, children ventured into the neighborhood to discover its many secrets for themselves. On the farm, there were animals, implements, and crops to be investigated, or fields, meadows, and woods to be roamed unless one was assigned an important chore. In the towns, first the adjace
nt buildings and eventually entire quarters could be explored. For instance, the old center of Giessen had an “almost medieval warren” of half-timbered buildings lining cobblestone streets. Heinz Schultheis was endlessly fascinated by the small shops with their enticing smells and colorful sights. He loved to wander around the market, marvel at the medieval city hall, and climb the tower of the cathedral to have a look from above. This “small world of childhood” provided a sense of safety and stimulated the imagination when technical marvels such as an airplane or a zeppelin paid a visit.45

  7. Vacation at the Baltic Sea. Source: Gisela Grothus, “Mein Leben.”

  In a big city such as Breslau or a metropolis like Berlin, there were more fascinating distractions but also real dangers for children testing their independence. Organ grinders with their monkeys would regularly visit the dank courts of tenements, playing doleful tunes to collect a few coins. Or impudent urchins would ring apartment doorbells so that the concierges would chase them. There were parks to be visited, playgrounds to be explored, and open-air concerts to be attended on Sunday. In December Christmas markets with spice cake and mulled wine beckoned. New Year’s Eve was punctuated by fireworks. With art museums and technical exhibitions providing special child rates, there was always something to be visited. But concerned mothers warned their daughters “not to go to the door if someone rang or knocked,” since beggars might be criminals.46 When on their own, children had to learn not to trust strangers and to keep out of harm’s way.