by Peter Haden
Thank you again for all that you did for us. I shall always remember you – may you have a happy life.
Meta
From the date of her birth and the hint given so clearly, Gisela was his daughter, although Meta had made no claim upon him and was telling him that neither would she do so in future. It sounded as though Klaus was a man of some means and although he had known nothing of her life since 1918 Günther was relieved that Meta’s future – and now that of his daughter – seemed secure. Wisely, he said nothing that might put his own new-found happiness at risk and simply filed the letter inside one of the engineering text books in his study.
But in contrast to the joy of his own marriage, Günther was keenly aware that it was a terrible time for the Weimar Republic. With the onset of war Germany had suspended the convertibility of its currency into gold. And whereas countries such as France had financed the war through taxation, Germany did it by borrowing from its own citizens, with the aim of making defeated allies make up the deficit afterwards. But the Fatherland lost the war, and the mark fell from 4.2 to the US dollar at the beginning to 8.9 at the end. As 1919 became 1920 it took 32 paper marks to buy one US dollar. Germany printed money to pay for imposed reparations, and by the autumn of 1922 a dollar cost 320 marks.
Initially the effect upon the unionised workers in the great industries that survived the war was limited – they could strike to secure a living wage. Business, able to borrow and then pay back in devalued currency, prospered, at least at first. But for the retired on a fixed income, and those working on the land or in unskilled employment, inflation was devastating. Over the second half of 1922 the cost of living index rose from 41 in June to 685 in December. The elderly, who before the war had set aside sufficient funds to ensure a modest retirement, were starving. Many committed suicide.
Günter’s father held a meeting of the estate workers in the barn. ‘I can pay you with worthless money, he told them, but for now we are all in a desperate struggle for survival. That said,’ he went on, ‘we have one priceless asset – the land. My proposal is that until this crisis is over, as far as is possible, we abandon the use of money. Together we will work the land and grow enough to feed ourselves. I will try to work out a fair and alternative system of payment, perhaps a little money but mostly in slaughtered meat, cereals, vegetables and milk, so that your families can at least have enough to live. This stupid crisis has to end some time, but until it does, no-one on this estate will die of starvation.’
The proposal was accepted gratefully. But during the spring and summer of nineteen twenty-two, in their newly built three-bedroomed thatched cottage, Hannah had other things to think about. It was neither an easy confinement nor a trouble-free birth, but almost nine months to the day after their wedding, Hannah gave birth to their daughter. Renate was a happy baby, but the local doctor did voice a fear privately to Günther that his wife might not conceive again. For her part, Hannah had insisted on a name that was German and not Jewish. Having read of the latest pogroms further east, she knew that there was an undercurrent of anti-Semitism. Hannah kept her concerns to herself but there was no harm in being careful.
One morning the local carter arrived with an item that Günther had ordered from Stettin. Feeding their daughter, Hannah watched as her husband assembled the delivery. ‘It’s a draughtsman’s board,’ he told her. ‘I’m going to try to design something.’ He watched, fascinated and utterly happy, as Hannah transferred their daughter from one breast to the other.
‘Let’s start at the beginning,’ he told her. ‘At the moment, we use horses on the estate. They are expensive to buy and they cost a lot to feed: you need at least two hectares to grow enough for each animal. This is land that you can’t use for any other purpose, like growing profitable cash crops.’
‘I thought steam engines were coming in,’ she replied. ‘Your father was talking about them only the other day.’
‘So he was,’ Günther agreed. But they are not very efficient. Some of them rely on a belt system to drive a threshing machine, but once they are up and running – and that takes a while – they are really just static engines. Others can move under their own power, pulling a plough, but they are just one-purpose devices – two wheels, an engine in front, a plough behind and a seat mounted up high and in between. Hannomag make one, the WD 80 horse power Grosspflug with a four-cylinder petrol engine, but it’s a hell of a size, it costs a fortune and all it can do is plough. It’s not very versatile.’
Hannah was aware of the Hannoversche Maschinenbau AG, one of the major engineering employers in that city. Come to that, its directors were occasional visitors to Stettin and hence to the restaurant. ‘So what are you thinking about?’ she asked automatically, her attention more on Renate than the drawing board.
‘I’m going to design a four-wheeled pulling machine, a tractor!’ he told her. ‘It will have a pulley wheel, so it can power static machinery with a belt drive, like the steam engines in use now. But it will also be able to pull other devices, like a cart, as well as a plough or a rake. Maybe I could design some sort of drilling device that would even sow the seed. Men are leaving the land for the industrial centres anyway, so this way we save on labour, we free up land that doesn’t have to grow food for horses, and when it’s not being used a tractor would not need to be fed and groomed – it just sits in the barn. It has to be the future for agriculture,’ he finished enthusiastically.
Günther used every last ounce of knowledge from his engineering course and then some. He welded a chassis and added two axles and four wheels – two large ones at the back to drive the machine over soft fields and two smaller ones at the front connected to a steering wheel. The clutch and drive mechanism was straightforward – the designs existed already. There were no gears, just a hand throttle. He chose an existing Benzolmotor of around thirty-five horse power. The design for a six-bladed plough to be towed behind he gave to a local blacksmith, who welded and hammered it out in a week. What he did not tell Hannah was that he had used his own money to finance the prototype. If this design did not work, he would have used up every Pfennig he had to his name and would have to go cap in hand to his father.
The day for the demonstration was set. The first field had been harvested. Normally it would have been ploughed in the spring. But then, it would take a farm hand with a gang plough and five horses more than three hours to till one hectare. Plus, of course, the time taken to harness and then return and groom the animals – effectively a day’s work.
Perhaps unwisely, thought Günther, his father had invited some of the tenant farmers to watch. Hannah was there, too, with Renate well wrapped up against the autumn chill. Günther had pre-positioned the plough. Cautiously he reversed up the tractor, attached the towing bar and set off. This was a bit tricky, because his rather simple clutch plate system moved the tractor in a series of short jerks, but eventually he succeeded.
The field was as well-ploughed as any horse drawn team could have achieved. But more to the point, when Günther jumped down from his tractor to shake hands with his father and kiss a beaming Hannah, he had ploughed the entire hectare in forty-five minutes.
The small group of half a dozen tenants were not men given to compliments, but Günther sensed that they were impressed. ‘How much?’ asked one grizzled old farmer bluntly, nodding at Günther’s machine.
‘Don’t know yet,’ he replied honestly. ‘I’ll have to cost it up. But you’ll have a choice. You can borrow to buy your own tractor, paying for it with the extra land freed up because you don’t have to fodder horses. Or you can rent the use of it, with a driver if you don’t feel confident to do it yourself. But I’ll give you all the financial facts as soon as I can. Had to make sure that Die verdammte Maschine worked first!’
‘Your damned machine certainly does work,’ his father told Günther enthusiastically. ‘Gentlemen,’ he addressed his farmers courteously, ‘I knew that the money spent
sending my son off to study engineering would not be wasted. You are looking at a very proud father. It’s been a fascinating but cold morning. Please allow me to offer a glass or two of something by way of celebration and to warm us up.’
Hannah squeezed Günther’s arm then walked off with the others, carrying Renate, to take her out of the cold. He was left on his own to unhitch the plough and drive the tractor back to the barn. So much for the joys of mechanisation, he reflected, with a wry smile.
Chapter 7
His father agreed to finance the business, providing capital in exchange for a share of the profits – as yet to be decided. Günther would help on the farm if required, but would concentrate on expanding the new venture. They already had a suitable building – a large, two storey brick barn. Initially they would use only the ground floor.
But Günther knew that this would have to be more than a one-man operation. It was the blacksmith who introduced his brother-in-law, Herr Schneider. ‘Johann has been in the merchant navy for years,’ he explained to Günther when they were discussing the project over a coffee at the forge. ‘He wants out, before some idiot starts another war, but he’s a top-class ship’s engineer. Why don’t you talk to him?’
Günther was impressed. Invited into the study at the cottage, Johann wore a plain, but good, suit together with a collar and tie. His wingtip shoes were so polished you could see your face in them. They discussed the drawings, which Johann could obviously read at a glance.
‘That shaft is too long, Herr Günther,’ he said straight away, stabbing at the connection from the front axle to the steering wheel with a permanently oil-stained index finger. ‘It’ll whip and break. Won’t last three months.’
‘So, what would you suggest?’ queried Günther, knowing in his heart of hearts that the older man was absolutely right.
‘Simple,’ came the reply, ‘put a coupling just aft of these steering rods that connect to the front wheels. Then you’ll have no more trouble. And it’ll cope better with the rough ground.’
Hannah came in with some coffee and Stollen but made no move to leave.
‘This is good, Frau Raschdorf,’ said Johann appreciatively. ‘Did you perhaps make it yourself?’
‘We don’t have a cook, Herr Schneider,’ she replied, obviously pleased at the compliment. Günther suppressed a smile. Clearly his wife would be addressed as ‘Frau Raschdorf’. His father would be ‘Herr Raschdorf’. But in engineering terms, Johann was far more experienced. So, it would be a courteous ‘Herr Günther’.
‘We are going to need machinery,’ Johann went on, ‘and a basic metal supply. I could work out what you will need, if you wish?’
‘That would be a great help,’ Günther agreed. ‘Perhaps if you could give it some thought, then we could look at it together. But the set-up cost does worry me, I must admit. We are not exactly over-financed.’
‘So, we don’t buy new,’ Johann replied. ‘Small firms often close down. I have a lot of contacts in Stettin. Particularly amongst the shipyards. If you wish, I shall ask around. A good second-hand lathe here, a milling machine there – I can inspect them and it shouldn’t cost anywhere near as much.’ He paused. ‘As for metal,’ he went on, ‘ships come to the end of their life and are broken up all the time. But there’s nothing wrong with the bulkhead plating or most of the other parts. You wouldn’t have to pay any more than the price they would fetch for scrap.’
Günther was fast realising that there was a world of difference between his level of knowledge and Johann’s lifetime of experience. ‘It’s like this, Herr Günther,’ Johann explained, sensing that his prospective employer did not fully understand, ‘if something breaks at sea, you don’t call in at the local dealer and buy a spare part. And you can’t carry enough items to cover the whole ship. So, you have a couple of machines and a few bits of metal. If a bearing shell goes, or a connecting rod breaks, you make another. Then you fit it. Don’t worry; we can build your tractor.’
‘I’m new to all this,’ admitted Günther. ‘What about wages. How much should I pay you?’
Before Johann could reply Hannah broke in. ‘We have to know what the start-up costs are going to be, and then work out the production costs, the selling price and the profit margin, assuming a reasonably low build number initially but a sensible increase after that. Herr Schneider, if you would start on the metal and the machinery, I’ll do the sums and work out what would be fair to both of us. Then it will be up to you to agree.’
‘You can do this, Frau Raschdorf?’ the older man queried.
‘I worked in my father’s business,’ she replied. ‘I’ve been trained to keep books and accounts. He runs a restaurant, but it doesn’t matter whether you’re making and selling plates of food or tractors: the principle is precisely the same!’ she concluded.
Over the next two weeks they prepared a business plan. The Raschdorf estate had bought what Johann referred to as ‘one of them horseless carriages’. Which was in fact a 1918 Daimler Marienfelde 3 ton truck, made for the Army but never taken into service. Its four-cylinder gasoline engine gave it a top speed of around 50 kilometres an hour. When Johann offered to take it into the barn for a day and check it over, Dieter Raschdorf was only too pleased. ‘What are you checking?’ queried Günther, as his father walked back to the main house. ‘I’m not,’ came the reply with a grin. ‘There’s nothing wrong with this vehicle. But I need half a day to take the transmission apart. Compared with your tractor design, it has a much better clutch assembly. Then we can copy it,’ he spread his hands palms uppermost, ‘in which case we might need to change the design so that we can make it more easily ourselves. But that would be a lot cheaper than buying in complete units. There’s a name for it,’ he went on. ‘It’s called “reverse engineering”.’
Günther was impressed. Without Johann, he doubted whether he would have had the skills, the contacts or the experience to put his design into production. His father called at the cottage that evening. Over a beer, Dieter Raschdorf announced that he wanted to buy a production model for the estate. ‘We’ve already lost a couple of hands,’ he explained, ‘gone to work in the factories in Berlin. And some of the horses are getting on a bit. I have looked at the figures and your tractor would be a lot cheaper than hiring and buying replacements.’
‘We’ll come to an agreement,’ Hannah replied, before Günther could say anything. ‘We have to demonstrate the tractor at local fairs and ploughing competitions. Also, we should advertise. All this takes money. Let me look at the figures, but we should be able to sell you the tractor at a discount if you will lend it to us occasionally, as well as the lorry when we need to move it around. Günther and Johann can make a trailer,’ she announced, without even bothering to consult her husband.
It took Günther and Johann three weeks to build a second tractor. The third was completed in two. They entered ploughing competitions as a form of advertising, as much as to win, although more often than not, they did. But what impressed everyone was that Günther completed the usual two lengths of a field before the horse-drawn teams were barely a quarter of the way up the first. Also, they handed out leaflets. Their first advertisement in a national monthly farming magazine resulted in nearly one hundred enquiries. By the end of 1927, the Raschdorf 35 production unit was making more profit than the entire estate. But as Günther, Hannah and Johann agreed, they were rapidly becoming overwhelmed – victims of their own success.
In the spring of 1928, they demonstrated the up-rated Raschdorf 40 at a major exhibition in Hannover. The well-dressed man who introduced himself was obviously a foreigner but spoke perfect Hochdeutsch – high German. He handed over his card and introduced himself as Charles Bloch, a Director of Derresford Inc., manufacturers of farm equipment and machinery in Plains City, Illinois, United States of America.
‘You’re an American,’ said Günther, somewhat taken by surprise.
‘First gen
eration,’ came the reply. ‘But my parents immigrated from Hamburg before the war. The old folks still speak German at home.’
‘So how can I help you, Herr Bloch?’ Günther queried politely.
The American’s head inclined towards the ‘40’. ‘Been admiring your machinery. In fact, my company bought one of your late model 35s.’
‘Thank you, but why would you have done that?’ asked Günther.
‘It won’t surprise you to know that we are developing similar machines in the U.S.A.,’ the American told him. ‘John Deere and Fordson both market a tractor. But I’m sure you know that a lot of major companies from the U.S.A. are investing heavily in Germany’s economy. We want to build tractors for Europe, too, and we want to do it in Germany.’
‘So why don’t you just import your own tractors,’ said Günther, thinking out loud, ‘or come to that, just build them over here?’
‘Any number of reasons,’ Bloch replied. ‘Labour and transportation costs, an exchange rate that’s highly favourable for export from here, plus a German product with a German name is more likely to appeal locally than something American, which is why, as we speak, I can tell you that there’s a rumour General Motors are looking at Opel.’
This was interesting news to Günther, but what little time he had to read newspapers did not stretch to keeping up with the motor industry. ‘The clincher is,’ Bloch continued, ‘your design is better. Sure, our engineers could tinker with it, but if we are going to do something in Europe we don’t want to get dragged into any legal disputes. I am authorised to talk to you, to see if we can put something together.’
‘I see,’ Günther responded cautiously. ‘What have you in mind?’