Hitler was taken for his first ride in an airplane, and became very nervous, to the point that he had diarrhea. Having no bathroom facilities on board, he used his hat to relieve himself and then tossed it out of the window. Later, when landing at the airport, everyone was singing and dancing, but paid no attention to Hitler. “What is being celebrated here?” he asked. “Well, Hitler is dead! His hat has been found with all that remains of him!”35
The Swiss viewed the 1939 Hitler-Stalin alliance with scorn. When Germany attacked Soviet Russia in June 1941, the Swiss rooted for mutual destruction. The following incident recalled by Dr. David Kirchgraber captures the emotions of the time:
Herr P, an affable German-born businessman, loved to talk about growing up in Switzerland. He spoke Swiss-German without accent and up until about 1940 pretended to give full support to the red and white flag. Anybody calling him by the common “Sauschwob” [German pig] would have been in trouble. I did not even realize that he was from across the border until I noticed that he took a more and more neutral stance. He was one of those emphasizing that Nazism and the German people were not the same. In the beginning, some Swiss citizens also tried to make us believe this. However, during the “Siege” [victories] under the very regime they pretended to disapprove of, the majority of Germans living among us showed this to be a rash conclusion.
When the news of the attack on Russia came over the radio on June 22, 1941, we were all standing with our friend P. In the most popular modern swimming pool of the area, in a romantic little valley away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Everybody became quiet, everybody was thunderstruck. Then Herr P’s baritone voice sounded across the glistening water: “Yes, in a month we will be in Moscow!” He said “we” and everybody looked even more bewildered. Someone said “hopefully, many of them will die” (“verräble” [croak] in the original Swiss-German dialect), and another called out “Nazi!” My father, beside himself, struck the water with his fist and shouted “Jawoll!” (yes!) into the bitter applause triggered by the response against Herr P…. A young man collected his uniform and called up to the loudspeaker: “Let them devour each other!”36
No one attempted to drown “Herr P,” but an incident of resistance in Davos could have resulted in a drowning. A large number of Germans resided in Davos, which offered several sanatoria for tuberculosis patients. Cornelia Rogger, a teenager at the time, remembers:
The war was raging in Russia. A 15-year-old German schoolboy said to me: “We will invade Switzerland and we will take your fur coat for our army!” I replied: “You murderers. I’ll burn my coat before I give it to you!” I saw him a few days later at the swimming pool. He said: “i hope you’re not mad at me.” I knew he could not swim, but I pushed him into the pool anyway and ran away. Someone rescued him. The German consulate telephoned me to come and answer for my act. I refused.37
Everyday resistance in Davos took other forms. In 1999, I interviewed 99-year-old Anton Bueler-Smulders and his son, who was six years old at the time of the following. They both remembered Dr. Becker, a Dutchman who worked at the Dutch Sanatorium in Davos, who regularly walked Tanky, his well-trained dark brown poodle. When a Prussian-talking German would pass, Dr. Becker would snap “Heil Hitler!” Whereupon the dog would raise his leg and pee!38
Everyone in Davos knew about it and thought it was funny. The German Nazis objected, but the police refused to do anything. They warned Dr. Becker to watch out, as the Germans could shoot him, but he paid no attention. In fact, he became a local hero!
Other dogs were used to express anti-Nazi sentiments. One informant recalls: “i saw a man who had his dog trained in a special way. He would put a dog biscuit on his nose and say, ‘This is from Hitler.’ The dog stayed still. Then he would say, ‘This is from Churchill.’ The dog jumped and swallowed it.”39
Switzerland was forced by necessity to trade with Germany for fuel and food. Karl Elsener, Sr., whose father headed the Victorinox factory—maker of the famous Swiss Army knives—recalls: “We got raw material from Solingen, Germany. Letters from German suppliers would have National Socialist propaganda. Father always said: “Jemand, der einem Deutschen etwas glaubt, ist ein fertiger Esel!” (Any one who believes a German is a complete ass!)40 Elsener adds: “Speeches by Hitler and Goebbels made the Swiss angry. Hitler was openly denounced. The Swiss and all of Europe heard Prof. Jean Rudolf von Salis on the radio. Everyone spoke what he thought.”
Heinz Langenbacher, a pilot during the war who would later become the Swiss Secretary of State, remembers a common rhyme: “Wo der Deutsche hindenkt, wächst kein Gras mehr.” (Where a German thinks, there will be no more grass growing.)41
The Swiss are serious about their wine. Indeed the Swiss Army knife which everyone uses contains a corkscrew (although the knife the army actually issues does not). The following was related by Alice Renold-Asper, who served in the Women’s Auxiliary Service. In 1940, a military parson from Solothurn left home, admonishing his mother: “if the Germans come, start a fire under my wine cellar! No Germans shall drink my wine!”42
Dr. Peter Voser related his own experience as follows:
We knew war would come. I was 17 and lived in Baden, the midpoint of the Limmat Line, the main defensive position of the Swiss Army. The authorities requested that the population invite soldiers for coffee in the winter of 1939. My father and brother were in the army, and soldiers visited every evening. They spoke about whether we could resist Germany.
Champagne was very expensive, and father had six bottles in the cellar which he got from a client. As spring approached, we thought the Germans would attack and that it would be a pity if the Germans got our champagne. So we drank them all! That summer, father returned from the army and said, “Now I will have a bottle of champagne. Peter, fetch me one!” I responded: “i thought the Germans were coming. It was better that Swiss drink the champagne than Germans!” At first father was angry, but then said that it was all right.43
When the Nazis conquered France, they decreed the death penalty for any person who failed to surrender firearms. This would have had special significance in Switzerland, where every man had been issued a rifle for militia service. While the Nazis may not have decreed the death penalty for failure to surrender the fruit of the vine, they certainly seized all they could. A typical bottle from occupied France had the label “Henri Abelé Reims Champagne” and was stamped in red: “Réservé à la Wehrmacht– Achat et revente interdits.”44 Reserved for the German Army—purchase and resale forbidden).
Peter Voser’s uncle, a doctor who was too old for military service, planned a special wine tasting for the Nazis. He had a beautiful home with a garden, and was sure the Germans would come and take it over. He prepared for his guests by putting poison into three bottles of his best French wine. He planned to invite them in and to drink the poisoned wine with his guests. He waited until the war ended to discard the wine.45
On April 28, 1945, Mussolini was executed and strung up by his heels from a lamppost. The news was received by Corps Commander Herbert Constam, who was the highest-ranking Jewish officer in the Swiss military and one of General Guisan’s most trusted officers. Constam telephoned his wife and sang out “Mussolini is dead. Ciao!” and then hung up. He was saying “so long” both to his wife and to il Duce. This was related to the author by Constam’s secretary and phone operator, who overheard the remark.46
At the end of the war, someone broke into the German Consulate’s house in Davos, ripped a picture of Hitler off the wall, and threw it out by the road. There was one policeman for all of Davos, and he said dryly, “This person is not to my taste.” He had no interest in catching whoever broke into the house.47
The Nazi leadership—Hitler, Göring and Himmler—committed suicide rather than face punishment for their actions. The Swiss made fun of them even in death:
When Göring died and went to Hell, he was brought before the throne of Satan, who stood up and heartily welcomed him. Himmler was also given th
e same cordial welcome when he arrived in Hell. Finally, when Hitler arrived and was brought before the throne, the Devil did not rise to greet him. When questioned by his subjects regarding this, he replied: “Oh, I know that fellow. If I were to get up, he would immediately steal my seat.”48
As these stories and anecdotes indicate, the vast majority of Swiss, at all levels of society, were deeply opposed to virtually everything the Nazis stood for. Their democratic traditions and fierce independence for centuries had opposed a centralized state and above all the rule of a single all-powerful leader. They were prepared to defend their homeland with their lives. It will never be known what would have happened if German armies had in fact invaded Switzerland, but it is certain that the war would have been bitter, and that the price in blood would have been exceptionally high.
CHAPTER 8
GAS MASKS & POTATO BREAD:
An Oral History
A woman went up to the General and exclaimed, “I must have them back!”
The General, who had heard this many times, answered: “I know, you want your husband and son back.”
The woman responded: “I want my two horses back!”1
Horses were critical for plowing and harvesting crops—especially to the women who were left to do the farm work—but they were also needed by the army for pulling artillery and hauling supplies in rugged Alpine terrain. This wartime witticism was recalled by Walter Schmid, who was in his teens during the war. A Boy Scout and member of a shooting society, “At 17 I took the oath to defend the country to the last. In 1940, Swiss teenage boys joined the Ortswehr (Local Defense) with their grandfathers. Our motto was ‘Every one of us takes seven Germans!’”
Besides becoming the backbone of economic production to release the men for military service, women played a major role as military auxiliaries, in civil defense and in assistance to refugees. Women and children also grew and processed food for the nation.
Fritz Wille was a retired corps commander of mountain troops whose grandfather was the Swiss commander-in-chief during World War I. Fritz, who commanded a cavalry squadron during World War II, remembered how “the soldiers complained that no one was at home working the farms and the horses were with us—‘we have to go.’ I replied that it was the same with all the other units. They quieted down and continued their duties.”2
His wife, Martina Wille von Erlach, an elderly but strong-willed lady whom this author interviewed six decades after the war, remembers May 1940 like it was yesterday. “My father, Rudolf von Erlach, commanding officer of the Grisons mountain brigade, told his officers one evening that Holland had surrendered after a brief resistance in which fewer than 2,000 soldiers were killed. A young lieutenant exclaimed: ‘That’s shameful! We would have more casualties in the Grisons alone!’”3
Units of the French army found refuge in Switzerland. Frau Wille recalls: “I remember a remark of a French internee—they had come in large numbers to Switzerland during Hitler’s campaign in France. The man disparaged the tiny little fields of potatoes or beans on the very steep slopes in our valleys. He said that in France nobody would ever do such a thing. But the Swiss people at that time were adapted to hardship. This was one of the reasons we were able to resist Hitler’s ambitions.
“Food and fuel were in short supply. Our government did its best to organize a just apportionment by points and rations. 100 grams of butter once a month; hot water once a week! We shared the short stocks with 300,000 refugees…. Of course it was not for us to complain, being spared the terrible suffering these people had to endure.
“I was a secretary and library helper at my uncle’s estate. But since my boss was commander of a battalion guarding the frontier and was absent for months, I worked on a farm with a peasant family at Maienfeld, a little town near the frontier with Liechtenstein. There were vineyards and cattle, though the peasants had no barns in which to store the grain harvest.
“The farmer had to leave for military service, and so we had to work extremely hard. Often we had to do threshing and load carts with corn sheaves during the night so they would be free the next day for further harvesting. Maienfeld had only one threshing machine. The harvest was enormous. Our government ordered farms to grow as much corn as possible so we wouldn’t be so economically dependent on Hitler’s Germany.
“In the summer of 1941, I lived for a few weeks with a peasant family in Oberhalbstein, a wonderful mountain valley in the Grisons. We harvested hay. The father and his three sons belonged to the 93rd Battalion and had to report for duty. How would the mother and sisters manage now with a stable full of cows and a bull? This situation was not extra ordinary at all, but the men made countless petitions for leave. My father, commander of the Grisons brigade, granted leave for one of the sons. But for a great number of other farmer families, the difficulties continued. These are the problems of a country where every civilian is at the same time a soldier.
“My brother, a young law student, ploughed up our lawn to make a garden to grow potatoes and vegetables. As he was an excellent hobby gardener, we had not only beautiful harvests, but far too much for our own family. The manager of the Grand Hotel Bellevue palace in Bern was glad to have our fresh vegetables, so my brother went with an old hand cart the five kilometers to Bern with the surplus from our garden. (Motorcars were requisitioned for military service and were largely unavailable, and gasoline was reserved only for medical emergencies or other special cases.)
“In 1955, the village of Bevaix on the lake of Neuchâtel celebrated the tenth anniversary of the end of the war. Everybody who had contributed to national defense was to take part in a parade through the village. Everyone from school children to grandparents was in the parade. So there were hardly any spectators. Every person had made an extraordinary effort during the war to ease the hardships of his neighbors. Children had sent little parcels and written letters to the men in military service. Women had taken over as much as possible the jobs and responsibilities of their absent husbands. Men beyond military age helped them, and the grandmas knitted stockings for the soldiers.”
Despite all the gardening and extra cultivation, food was short in Switzerland during the war. The American airmen who found refuge there were in for a rude awakening.
Heinz Langenbacher of the Swiss Air Force, today a retired ambassador, recalled helping damaged American bombers land: “I remember a cartoon: ‘Where can we land our plane?’ So many American Liberators were on the runways that the Swiss planes could hardly land.” He recorded in his diary: “On July 13, 1944, a double patrol of the flight squadron had to intercept an American Liberator bomber that was entering our neutral space from Basel in the direction of Lucerne. We gave the bomber the agreed-upon signals, to which the U.S. crew responded immediately. Half an hour later we landed in Payerne. One of the American crew members told us that they had been instructed at the base in England: ‘If you have any problems, fly in the direction of the Alps and the “Swiss taxi service” will pick you up!’4
“We ran into problems the next morning when the Americans were served cocoa, old bread and a small piece of cheese for breakfast. They spit ‘the muck’ out, exclaiming, ‘We are not pigs and we will not eat it!’ They wanted ham and eggs. We explained the rationing system and said, ‘Look, we are eating it too!’ In long discussions we explained to them that foodstuffs had been rationed in Switzerland for years and that we had not eaten fresh bread for a long time (because bread could only be sold two days after baking). We told them that our monthly rations were very small. Luckily, for breakfast that day we did not have ‘federal bricks,’ that hard kind of zwieback that almost breaks your teeth.”
Before and during the war, one of every three Swiss was a farmer (today it is only three percent). Robert Gasser-Hänni is a farmer today. He gave an interview for this book at his old farmhouse in the rolling hills near Bern. He was born in 1926 in a village in Canton Freiburg, the youngest of a family of three brothers and three sisters. The family farm consisted of
ten acres of fields and five acres of forest, all of it very steep land, requiring grueling manual labor. Area families were large, one having 22 children. The depression decade between 1929 and the war had left farmers extremely poor. Mr. Gasser remembers: “At the beginning of winter we would get a pair of clogs which often left us with frostbitten feet. There was no device to check whether the clogs fit, but if they did not we were so happy to get a new pair that we forgot how much they hurt. The shoemaker was a neighbor who secretly made potato liquor when he did not have enough work.5
“In the morning we ate Rösti (hash brown potatoes), at lunch boiled potatoes, and in the evening potato soup. We ate bread sparingly, old cheese, and butter—but only on Sunday. In the winter we slaughtered an old sow and that was that. Often we had people eating with us who were even poorer. We let them sleep in the straw. We slept on bags of straw too and in the winter covered ourselves with horse blankets.
“I was a schoolboy in 1939 when, while harvesting wheat, father came up the hill with the bad news that general mobilization had been declared. We children were all close to tears and mother was crying. We had to be courageous and clench our teeth. My oldest brother, a corporal, took one of our two horses into the army with him. To get our wheat home, we had to borrow a neighbor’s frisky three-year-old horse, which bit my hand and left it practically unusable for a long time. Then my second-oldest brother was drafted to the army, and we got further behind with our work.
“The fall was wet and cold. The potatoes were still in the soil when the first snow fell. We had to collect the potatoes from soil that was mixed with snow and partially frozen. We had no gloves to protect our hands and keep them warm. In the evening, even though we were very tired, we had to unload the potatoes and take them to the basement.
Swiss and the Nazis Page 21