One way to acquire more food than with ration cards was to trade valuables in rural areas for supplies from friendly farmers. This foraging was called hamstern after the rodent’s habit of collecting and hoarding supplies. Erich Helmer remembered that “trains that ran out of the cities were often hopelessly overcrowded; people with their backpacks hung on to the cars like grapes,” all in order “to trade for or buy something in the countryside to improve their nutrition.” Starving urbanites offered money or prized possessions such as family silver, jewelry, and china to farmers who would be willing to part with some hams, sausages, eggs, or potatoes. Another strategy was to discover a long-lost uncle on a farm who could be talked into sharing his surplus. Fortunate families such as the Fehrs with American relatives or friends also received CARE packages as human relief, which stilled their hunger temporarily.44 Because this unequal trade was often akin to begging, girls and women were especially skilled at evoking sympathy and evading the law on the way home.
Starving urbanites also used other, less-legal methods for obtaining something to eat by plundering stores or trading on the black market. When Wehrmacht depots were opened during the chaotic collapse, local people hastened to pillage supplies, no matter whether they were shoes or canned goods. Often they bartered these stolen wares on the black markets that had sprung up close to train stations in order to circumvent the restrictions of rationing. Primarily interested in such spoils as cameras or Nazi mementos, occupation soldiers were willing to offer PX goods such as coffee, nylons, or tobacco in return. Erich Helmer traded lumps of coal for butter or chocolate. In such whispered transactions, cigarettes became a substitute for the depreciated Reichsmark, allowing nonsmokers to turn Lucky Strikes or homegrown tobacco into foodstuffs. But the black market was dangerous; “getting caught with cigarettes” during an Allied raid netted prison sentences.45 Nonetheless, the trading continued unabated.
Coping with the cold was another trial, for the fuel supply was inadequate and the winter of 1946–1947 was one of the most severe of the entire century. With miners starving, the coal output declined and the destruction of the rails hindered deliveries. Moreover, many houses’ windows and heating stoves were broken. “When I opened my eyes in the morning, the entire wall and ceiling were covered in ice crystals,” Ingrid Bork remembered of that heatless winter. “We could not wash, since the water in the pitchers and buckets was frozen solid.” Some people, including Ursula Baehrenburg, went to parks and forests and cut down trees or dug out stumps that might be burned. Even older women such as Edith Schöffski’s mother climbed up on the slowly moving coal trains and threw lumps down to the side of the track. Even Catholic Cardinal Frings absolved such “organizing” if people were trying “to get something in need.” Tired of chattering teeth, blue hands, and aching bones, Ursula Mahlendorf loved the “hot noon meal” provided by Americans to all school pupils.46
Obtaining clothes for braving the elements provided another challenge, for there was nothing to buy with worthless money. Even if they had not been pillaged by occupation troops, the prewar items had become threadbare and “shoes had either grown too small or were worn out.” Women such as Ingrid Bork once again became champion improvisers by “sewing a dress out of our flag.” Moreover, “the old horse blanket became a coat,” while curtains salvaged from a bombed house were transformed into another dress. “The uniforms of the men were dyed so that one could no longer recognize their field grey.” This need gave Erika Taubhorn a new vocation: “Since clothing was scarce, I went to a sewing school where I remained for seven years.” There she “learned for instance to make a new dress from two old ones which were either too tight or no longer nice enough.” Ursula Mahlendorf’s mother also struggled to get by as a seamstress, although her customers often had to pay with victuals rather than money.47
Living conditions were crowded due to the destruction of about half the housing stock and the arrival of refugees. This hit women especially hard. Gertrud Koch’s apartment had been destroyed and she was glad to find shelter from the elements in an abandoned cellar. Other women made do with garden sheds, garrets, and the like. Expellees such as Ursula Baehrenburg had to share one unheated room under a leaky roof with five people, trying “to live peacefully together.” Ruth Bulwin was happy to graduate from a horse stable to a larger room with a stove in a Labor Service barracks, even if they owned only a table, chairs, and a bed as furniture. While the constant struggle against lice and bedbugs was annoying, they were able to cultivate a small garden plot with tobacco, while other neighbors kept chickens or rabbits to supplement their food.48 Because the scarce housing was administered bureaucratically, strangers were often assigned to share the space, leaving little privacy for one’s own affairs.
Women also took the lead in reassembling family members dispersed during the war and the Third Reich’s collapse. The breakdown of the postal service meant that letters had to be carried by friends, who had to struggle through a disrupted transportation system with irregular trains and impassable roads. For Edith Schöffski, “the day on which Anneliese came” remained unforgettable. Her younger sister had been left in the countryside, where she was raped multiple times by Russian soldiers. Ingrid Bork recalled that a friend went to the train station every day hoping to find her missing brother, since “Munsterlager was the release point for British POWs.” When he turned up years later, the twenty-year-old “had white hair and hardly spoke a word.” For the untold racial victims of the Nazis, such as Ruth Elias, it was essential to find out which family members might still somehow be living, even if “we no longer had a home.” The Alenfelds treasured the news from relatives that “we are alive, we escaped the Nazi terror,” although they also referred to “new grief” from the Red Army.49
All these tribulations combined for war widows with little children who were displaced from their prior homes. In moving letters to a female friend, the desperate Lotte Wriedt described her seemingly impossible challenges: having had no clear confirmation of her husband’s death, she hoped that he would still turn up some day, but failing that, she needed legal proof that he was deceased in order to qualify for a meager widow’s assistance. With four small children to take care of, she had little time to find gainful employment and was thrown back upon the private charity of friends and relatives. Often the mother and children starved, having to eat only beets or scrounge for mushrooms, gleanings from fields, or wild apples. “Why have we not all died? Why are we destined to be alone without our father? No, I don’t know if I can cope with this problem. My nerves are shot.” Often she was depressed: “Nobody can help me. I want to cry like an animal but it does not help.”50 Only for the sake of the children did she struggle on.
The first Christmas after the war was an emotional roller-coaster, relief about the return of peace mixing with pain about the losses of the war and fear of an uncertain future. Still under Polish rule in East Prussia, Ursula Baehrenburg considered it “a sad holiday” that left no memories. Though Irene Alenfeld’s mother “felt no Christmas spirit at all,” the family read the nativity story at home “in many languages in the hope for a coming Europe.” Martin Sieg had an even more touching Christmas, for a female teacher had invited a group of “homeless and single soldiers” who did not want “to be alone with their depressing thoughts” on that evening. “A small spruce tree decorated the room. Candles burned and a few cookies lay on small plates,” since nobody had any riches to offer. “Nonetheless the table was set for us in cordial fashion like in Bethlehem of old.” Even if Sieg did not yet appreciate the religious message of the Christmas story, such female efforts to share a bit of human warmth encouraged people to go on.51
Maintaining good family relations was difficult for women, since many of the surviving men were damaged by the war and unsuitable as partners. Even after they had returned from POW camps, veterans tended to be uncommunicative, sharing their stories only with their former comrades. If they had seen tensions beforehand, unions like that of Ruth
Bulwin’s parents tended to fail, while prolonged separation such as the Johannsens’ made it likely “that the marriage would break up some day.” But finding mates during the postwar chaos was difficult when one’s almost-adult children, such as Ursula Baehrenburg, spoke up against a new connection by saying, “We do not want any half-siblings.” She found living under a stepmother trying because the newcomer tended to favor her own offspring. Some war widows such as Erika Taubhorn’s mother even advertised in the newspaper, only to be disappointed by the suitors who turned up. More successful was the slow growth of a relationship, as between Anneliese and Paul Huber, who married in 1953.52
Trying to make up for what they had missed, young adults jumped into those pleasures they could afford. During the summer, swimming and hiking in informal groups offered a welcome change of pace. Ingrid Bork was willing to stand in line for hours to catch a movie, even if the power might go out in the middle of the action. Her friends tried to distill their own alcohol because the spirits sold in stores were exorbitantly expensive. Horst Johannsen was so good with his harmonica that the Communist youth group asked him to play for dances, providing him with entertainment, company, and some money. When he finally overcame his shyness and went to a dance, Hermann Debus was astounded that “the women and girls almost threw themselves at the few men present” due to the gender imbalance of about two females to every male of marriageable age. When she was offered twenty marks for quick sex, Erika Taubhorn took the money and ran: “I have never understood the women and girls who surrendered themselves for one night.”53
Even if many youths only wanted diversion, the longing for companionship often turned such encounters into love. A movie date with the attractive actress Christel grew serious when Gerhard Baucke dared to kiss her: “It was the beginning of a great love, a love which had to weather many trials.” Only out for pleasure, Erika Taubhorn rejected so many suitors that her mother was convinced she would never marry. But when leaving yet another show, she “looked a young man directly in the face. He stared at me and smiled, and I returned the smile.” This was love at first sight with Alfred, whom she married soon thereafter, since they “understood each other well.” Similarly, during one of the dances, Hermann Debus met a vivacious blonde named Ilse with whom he got on well. In spite of the lack of most basic necessities on board his tugboat, “we were very happy. We had each other—and were content with that.” Introduced more conventionally at a tea, Gisela and Horst Grothus discovered that they shared basic values and married as well.54
Marriages during the postwar chaos were wagers on a better future, a sign of optimism that lives would improve if faced together rather than alone. When Erich Helmer declared his intention to wed Gretel, his future mother-in-law warned, “Children, you don’t have anything, no job prospects, not to mention an apartment, furniture, or china.” But they were undismayed: “Indeed, we believed that everything would turn out well, even if the world around us was still full of shards and rubble.” The ensuing ceremony was an ironic mixture of wishes for a “good socialist marriage” and Christian vows to the power of love. Even the Russian guards who caught them as they crossed the border celebrated their marriage with lots of vodka over several days! Similarly, Robert Neumaier was “the happiest man” alive when his adored schoolmate Johanna accepted his proposal. After the fighting and imprisonment had forced Karl and Erna Härtel to wait for five years, they were finally able to tie the knot in an impressive ceremony in 1948.55
Having children was an even stronger affirmation of life during the late war and postwar period. Anneliese Huber gave birth to her son Wolfgang in May 1944, but struggled hard in order to provide enough food and medicine during the inevitable childhood diseases. As a war widow, she had to work and care for him at the same time. But “the happy child gave me much joy and created a purpose for my life.” Ruth Bulwin had her daughter Brigitte in November 1944, but in the chaos of flight to the West the baby refused to eat. Only when she sweetened the oatmeal did the infant begin to feed again and get strong enough to resist infections. Although Ruth was depressed when she became pregnant again, she encouraged herself by reasoning, “whoever was alive had already won the lottery and we were young.” When her son Manfred was born in July 1946, they somehow managed to feed another mouth. Even worse off were the many children who had lost their parents and had to live in Red Cross or church orphanages.56
In spite of their search for romantic relationships, young women continued to work outside the home in order to earn a livelihood and to gain greater independence. For those with little education but practical skills like Erika Taubhorn, being a seamstress was sufficient as long as she was paid enough. Others who were more ambitious, such as Ursula Baehrenburg, went back to school; she did so in order to advance from exploited help to a regular position as a nursery-school teacher. Still others, such as Erna Katterwe, had the good fortune to be drafted as a “new teacher” by the local mayor, who had fired the Nazi instructors and now needed personnel to staff the schools even if they lacked formal training. Gisela Grothus had already obtained her degree and found herself much in demand as a medical technical assistant. She moved away from her home town since she “wanted to be independent and self-reliant.” Because clinics desperately needed fully trained staff, she worked long hours and “my job completely occupied me.”57
Due to their resoluteness in dealing with chaos, German women earned much public acclaim, even if their subsequent retreat into family life denied them full legal equality. When likened to “the strong woman from the Bible,” Joachim Fest’s mother indignantly rejected the description, protesting, “I would still rather … sit down in front of the piano.” By contrast, during a feminist lecture in the Bremen America House, Ursula Mahlendorf insisted, “My mother works too—as a matter of fact so do I. And I don’t intend to ever stop doing so. I want to have some profession.” She continued, “I cannot imagine ever being dependent on a husband for earning the family income.” If men like her father could die, it was important to be self-sufficient. As a result of women’s impressive strength, the constitutions of both German states promised equality between the genders. But because many women wanted to return to the traditional homemaker role after mastering the postwar chaos and male politicians dragged their feet during the revision, it took several decades in East and West Germany to reform family law toward this ideal.58
REBUILDING LIVES
With every passing year German lives inched further toward normalcy—albeit under the new circumstances of a four-power occupation regime that lasted until 1949. Without defining the connotations of what seemed normal, the autobiographies describe this process by referring to a return of the stability and predictability of a civilian life. For struggling people, “finding a way back to peace, to the normalization of existence” meant having enough food to eat, housing to shelter from the elements, and jobs to earn a living. But with the suspension of sovereignty in June 1945, the Germans had become wards of the Allied Control Council. They lost authority over their own affairs and were forced to obey the occupiers’ orders. The slow reversal of the occupation policies from prevention of World War III and punishment for Nazi crimes to “starting the reconstruction and restoration of democracy” offered the defeated space for a new beginning. “At any rate, times gradually normalized,” Ruth Bulwin recalled, “and it slowly grew light again at the end of a long tunnel.”59 Hence her family photo shows a renewed optimism (image 22).
One irritating consequence of the occupation rule was the division of German territory into four zones, with each victorious power controlling its own territory. Though the Potsdam Agreement had created a common policy of “demilitarization, denazification and decartelization,” the implementation of these aims diverged so that every zone gradually assumed the character of its controlling power. Moreover, the division created new borders, policed by each of the victors, which required an official pass to be crossed. For refugees from the east such as the Krohmer family,
the controls were a vexing obstacle; the permits were difficult to get, necessitating the hiring of a smuggler to help them get across. With his wife and parents on different sides of the “Iron Curtain,” Erich Helmer “ended up crossing the border more than three hundred times.”60 Because the barriers hindered recovery, the United States finally pushed for their abolition in the West.
22. Living in barracks. Source: Ruth Bulwin, Spätes Echo.
Another hurdle was the process of denazification, which sought to weed out leading Nazis and punish them for their misdeeds. In the Soviet zone, a collective purge of discredited elites attempted “to eliminate the old capitalist influences,” while in the West an individual effort tried to ascertain personal culpability with the help of a 131-item questionnaire. Reliable anti-Fascists such as Joachim Fest’s father and Nazi victims such as the Communist mother of Gertrud Koch were put in charge of denazification courts, which investigated membership in various NS organization and assessed actual behavior. Suddenly the few surviving Jews, such as lawyer Erich Alenfeld, were overrun by petitioners asking them to provide an affidavit, called Persilschein after a laundry detergent, that would prove their innocence. Though he approved of the Nuremberg judgments, Fest senior found “the tribunalization of the Hitler years … extremely dubious” and declared that life was too complex to be judged. Only the highest Nazis were sentenced, while most accomplices merely had to pay a fine.61
Broken Lives Page 30