Smelly Childhood Prank (1957)

Dear friends, after digressing from my childhood memories for several posts I am now back on track and will continue to tell you about my journey through this miraculous life.

As you may remember I had a fairly strict upbringing. At the time of my growing up children lived under an authoritarian regime especially at school. We had to treat our teachers with utmost respect. Their word was law except at classroom debates and discussions. If we had sound arguments and could back them up effectively we were allowed to express contrary opinions.

However, children at all times did outrages and even cruel things and we were no exceptions. I am still ashamed to remember the prank our whole class played on a teacher.

Our art teacher was a middle aged lady of great proportions who loved to eat. She would sit at her front desk in the art room munching away on enormous sandwiches filled with strong smelling cheeses or odiferous garlic sausages and cold cuts.

Bacon sandwich

Instead of giving us inspiring instruction of drawing or painting techniques or providing us with shining examples of fine arts she would devour her heavy lunches leisurely reading the newspaper. Absentmindedly she would sweep away crumbs from her desk with her sausage-like fingers.

We had the freedom to draw or paint whatever we fancied. She never showed any interest in our “masterpieces”. Her sole interest was directed to her prolific victuals.

Because of our teacher’s lack of good modeling behavior and lack of interest one of our class mates was inspired to rouse her out of her lethargy. She wanted to pay her back on her assaults on our aesthetic sensibilities. This inspired student asked us to bring smelly soft cheeses to school for the next day. And I have to admit we all followed her lead without any reservations or scruples and did what she told us. Before our art lessons started the next morning she directed us to quickly smear the smelly soft cheeses on all the surfaces of the art room especially on our teacher’s chair and desk.

We could hardly cope with the overpowering stench ourselves before our teacher entered the room. Maybe she was already desensitized by these odors. To our secret delight she sat down on the greasy chair without noticing the unusual sheen and smell.

When she calmly started unpacking her lunch, we politely asked her if something was spoiling in her bag. Suddenly she seemed to become aware of the stronger than normal aromas. Bewildered she looked around and seemed to notice that they came wafting from all sides and not just from the usual place in front of her. That’s when she smelled the “rat”.She left the room and returned in a short while with the principal who was a very proficient “rat smeller”.

Our classmate who had hatched the idea of the plot bravely and willingly accepted the role as scapegoat in spite of our strong protests. She took her lashes in front of the class with dignity and even humor as we noticed a twinkle in her tearing eye and a tiny smile in spite of the obvious pain and humiliation.

Photo Credit: 123RF.com

The rest of us had to scrub and clean the art room and polish the furniture without the aid of disintegrating aromatic cheeses.

From that day on our art teacher seemed to have lost her appetite during art lessons. She even started teaching us techniques as for example in different perspectives.

In spite of my sketchy art lessons I have developed a lifelong love and appreciation for art. In retrospect I thank my teacher who gave us the freedom and opportunity to explore our own creativity.

Two New Friends (1956)

After our return from summer camp in Berg Neustadt our parents told us the exciting news that the construction of the apartment building was nearing completion. If all went according to schedule we would celebrate Christmas in our new home.

Angelika had moved to Wolfsburg during the summer My friend and I had been an inseparable pair keeping mostly to ourselves. Angelika did not like to “share” me with other girls and had jealously guarded our friendship. I felt lost without her. I was apprehensive about going back to school fearing to be without friends. Once in awhile Angelika and I had been invited for a special occasion to Gisela’s house. Gisela was the girl from Eisenach, the famous town close to Gotha, where the Wartburg is located.

But as so often in my life, my fears were unfounded. Gisela and her friend Gudrun felt sorry for me and asked if I wanted to walk with them during recess. They also invited me to do homework at their homes. They always took turns. Knowing my situation they did not mind that I could not invite them back because of the Old House. I promised them that they could always come to my place once we had moved. They were fine with this prospect.

Gisela lived with her grandparents, her mom and older sister in a new apartment, not too far from our prospective home. Gisela’s pretty mom, a petite, dark-haired woman, was a war widow. Gisela had never known her dad, a pilot, who was killed shortly before her birth.

After the war and their flight from east Germany Gisela’s mom worked as a seamstress, while her parents took care of the household chores. Gisela, a tall long-legged girl with big brown eyes, always wore the most stylish and beautiful dresses which her talented mom designed and sewed for her. Gisela was a bit more serious and reserved than most of our classmates and, therefore, appeared to be older.

Seamstress at Work – Photo Credit: wikipedia.org

Gisela’s grandparents always received us warmly, when Gudrun and I came for a visit and they treated us with delicious homemade refreshments. They took a genuine interest in our lives and liked to tell us stories of the their exciting past,

Unlike Gisela, Gudrun was very outgoing and radiated warmth. She always had a sweet smile on her round face. Blond, blue-eyed and well developed she liked to take life easy and have fun. While I still wore hand-me-down clothes from my second cousins, Gudrun had the most beautiful skirts, blouses and dresses, which her mom sewed for her.

Like Gisela’s mom, her mother was also a war widow and a seamstress. She also had a tailoring business at her home. Gudrun’s grandma lived with them. But her grandpa was dead. Gudrun’s Oma did the household chores while her mom sewed on a big long table in a corner of the spacious kitchen close to the window.

Gudrun’s well dressed mom looked glamorous with her fashionably styled blonde hair, her heavy makeup and her bright red, enormously long fingernails. They were curved like claws. I secretly wondered how she could handle delicate materials with them. She would take frequent smoke breaks showing off her long fingers by gracefully holding the cigarette. She half closed her mascaraed eyes, leisurely and slowly exhaling the smoke through her rounded red lips. Smoking looked so pleasurable and alluring to us girls.

Photo Credit: ifyouinsist @Flickr

Periodically. a male friend of the family who was a truck driver for a brewery would visit Gudrun’s mom. At those times there was a lot of laughter, joking and thick clouds of smoke, which were coming from the sewing corner distracting us from studying for school. I think her mom’s friend was a father substitute for Gudrun.

Gudrun had a record player, a luxury our family could not yet afford. She owned records of the top hits, most of them presents from her mother’s friend. We would listen with excitement to the catching songs and rhythms of Little Richard, Elvis Presley. Connie Francis and Brenda Lee. As soon as Gudrun’s mom and Oma were out doing errands, we would even dance around. When our top idol Elvis sang, “Love me Tender” we were mesmerized and started dreaming of first love.

I envied Gudrun and Gisela for their wide skirts with stiff petticoats that swung in style when they twirled and spun around trying to dance Rock’n Roll. But I still had fun and was thankful for my two new wonderful friends.

Surviving Bullies at a Summer Camp (1956)

In August 1956 our parents sent us to a summer camp in Bergneustadt, a beautiful town situated in the forested hills close to Cologne. We were sponsored by a charitable organization for refugee children from the east.

The prospect of having a real vacation away from home like many of my classmates seemed exciting at first. But then separation anxiety from my parents took hold of me. Eventually my mother succeeded in persuading me to go. My brother didn’t appear to have any mixed feelings and was eager to leave for new adventures.

The big, bright youth hostel was nestled in the forest. There were lots of children our age, about 10 to 14 years old. We slept in large dormitories. It reminded me of the refugee camp in Aurich. I felt intimidated by the crowds of strange children, especially the boisterous teenage boys. There were a few bullies who made life miserable for some of us. They verbally abused us and were physically rough when we played unsupervised games These boys mercilessly teased us and gloated when they could see that they had upset or hurt us. The group leaders were overwhelmed by the great number of kids in their care, They often overlooked or did not seem to notice these negative behaviors. Since I was extremely shy I did not dare to complain, I suffered silently.

We did some exciting excursions to the Aggertalsperre (dam at the river Agger) and the Atta limestone caves. We hiked in the beautiful natural surroundings, Nevertheless I felt increasingly homesick. I couldn’t eat or sleep. I withdrew even from girls who were trying to be friends with me.

One day, we were all supposed to write a postcard home. I wrote a desperate plea to my parents to come and get me as soon as possible.

A few days later I received a letter from my father. I eagerly opened this welcome message from home with joyful anticipation.

But what my father wrote to me seemed to top off all the bullying I had endured.

Instead of comforting words my father wrote what he may have thought to be a witty and humorous “dissertation”. He explained the linguistic origin of the German words ‘dämlich’ and ‘herrlich’, roughly translated as ‘dumb’ and ‘masterful’. Unfortunately the allusions and fine points of his linguistic examinations are lost in translation. There are no equivalents in the English language. He told me that the word “dumb” derives from the word “dame”. On the other hand “masterful” or “manly” originates from master or man, ‘Herrlich’ also has the connotation of wonderful or glorious.

I could not finish reading my father’s letter because tears of shame and disappointment blinded my vision. But miraculously my pain was short lived. A supervisor approached me and told me that I had a visitor waiting for me in the main office. When we entered, there was my beloved mother! It seemed like a miracle. She had made the long and costly trip by bus and train to see me against my father’s advice.

I was overjoyed. We spent the beautiful afternoon together walking in the forest and talking. I unburdened my heart and she listened with empathy. When evening approached she gave me the choice of going back home with her or staying for the remainder of the vacation.

One thing my father’s letter had accomplished. It had stirred up my pride and courage. I was going to show him that I was not that ‘dumb’ weak ‘dame’ intimidated by the ‘wonderful masters’. I would not give him the satisfaction of proving his point. I decided to stay.

I enjoyed the remainder of my time at the youth camp. I learned to ignore verbal assaults and not take them personally. I avoided playing unsupervised games with rough boys and sought out the company of friendly girls. I also noticed that the supervisors intervened more readily when they saw inappropriate behaviors. Maybe as a result of my mother’s visit they were more vigilant.

Summer camp in many respects was a great learning experience for me and it made me stronger. I felt happy and relieved that I did not quit or give in to fears and feelings of insecurity, thanks to my mother’s love. In retrospect I also appreciate my father’s words. Although it was not so obvious, he also acted out of concern for me. He knew that by taunting me I would rise to the challenge. In his words I learned to ‘master’ my fears.

More Memories of My Friendship With Angelika – Her Traumatic Past and Her Miraculous Survival from Leukemia 1957

My first visit with Angelika and her parents at her beautiful place was coming to an end. Her dad told us to go to his Volkswagen Beetle so he could drive me home.

“I’ll take Torro as well”, Angelika’s dad told me, “but he has to go in the car last. If he is in before you, he’ll get very agitated and bark at you. He is very possessive of the car.”

When Angelika and I were settled on the backseats, Torro jumped in last and I could see how happy and proud he was to sit beside his master.

Photo Credit: Jen at Flickr.com

For me a car ride was a special experience since we never owned one. We rode by bus or train and did a lot of walking and biking.

Initially I enjoyed the ride in the cute little Beetle but the closer we came to my street, the more apprehensive I felt. I did not want Angelika and her dad to see The Old House of Rocky Docky. I felt ashamed to live in such a shabby small place and feared I would never be invited by Anglika again.

I feigned carsickness and asked to walk the last stretch home. I think Angelika’s dad sensed why I wanted to get off and let me go without protest.

My fears were unfounded.The next morning Angelika’s parents visited my mother and asked if I could spend as much time as possible at their home. My mother was happy with the prospect to know I was at a safe place while she was gone fighting for my dad’s pension. From that day on I spent almost all my afternoons with Angelika and often stayed overnight on weekends as well. Angelika and I became close like sisters, We both were ambitious and spent time together to study and do homework to get good marks. There was competition between us but we also cheered for each other’s accomplishments.

I noticed that Angelika was very reluctant to show affection to her parents although they showered her with love and attention and seemed to fulfill all her wishes.

When they tried to hug her or kiss her she withdrew quickly or pushed them away. That puzzled me. Her parents were such lovable kind and good looking people. Angelika’s father often asked me in a half joking way. “Do you hug and kiss your parents?” Of course I did and I told him so. But that did not change Angelika’s attitude towards physical closeness with her parents.

One day I talked to my mom about this and she told me Angelika’s story which offered a possible explanation

Angelika’s parents got married very young towards the end of the war. Her mom was still in medical school studying medicine when she became pregnant. Angelika’s dad was fighting at the front.

Angelika’s mom decided to put her new born daughter in a foster home with the intention to get her back when her husband returned and she had completed her studies.

For four years Angelika lived in foster care until she was finally reunited with her parents. Trying to make up for lost time they showered her with love and attention but Angelika did not seem to return their affection. She was very quiet, almost withdrawn and easily upset. She avoided social interactions and did not like to play with other children. When Angelika finally developed a close friendship with me, her parents were overjoyed. Angelika was capable of closeness and affection with other human beings

Angelika never talked about the time she spent in foster care. But she often told me that she always wanted a sister or a brother, She envied me for having a twin brother, She thought I was never lonely and had always a close friend. I did not want to shatter her illusion, but at that time my brother and I didn’t love and appreciate each other at all.

I have wonderful memories of the time I spent with Angelika at her loving home. Her parents would do anything to make life after school pleasant for us. They’d take us to fancy pastry shops and we could choose the delicious cakes and sweets for our afternoon snacks.

After we completed our assignments we would sit on Angelika’s bed, our feet dangling onto Torro’s warm fur and we would talk and daydream and joke around, laugh and giggle. Her mom and dad seemed to like hear us laugh and giggle.

One morning in school Angelika was missing. Mecki told the class that she was very sick and would not be in school for a while, I was shocked. She seemed fine the day before.

My mother looked very concerned when I came home and told me that I could not visit Angelika because she was too ill.

I was very worried and missed her terribly. Finally one day my mother told me that Angelika’s parents wanted me to see her because she had asked for me.

Angelika’s mom looked pale and thin. She took me by the hand. “Please, don’t tell her how shocked you are when you see her”, she pleaded. In spite of the forewarning I was shocked. Angelika was lying in her bed. She had sores all over her skin and mouth and she looked very pale. But she managed a small smile in greeting. Her eyes even sparkled a bit. She told me that she had a severe blood disorder and needed a bone marrow transplant. But now she t was on the road to recovery. She told me about all the strange things she had to eat to get better. “Next time you come you have to try sprouted wheat”, she told me. When I told her stories from school, she even managed to laugh a little. “The sores in my mouth still hurt a bit”. she said, but she seemed proud that she had overcome her illness. “I could have died, but I made it”.

Every day I visited her after school and I could see how she was getting stronger. But she never came back to school. Another shock was waiting for me.

Angelika’s dad was being transferred to Wolfsburg where the famous Volkswagen was manufactured. They would be moving soon.

VW Factory Wolfsburg – Photo Credit: Bildarchiv Schroedter

One day when I returned home from school, my mother told me with a trembling voice and tears in her eyes that Angelika’s parents had asked her, if they could adopt me so Angelika would not loose her best friend who was like a sister to her. They even tried to fulfill this wish.

Although my mother deep down knew my answer she still asked me if I wanted to be adopted to have a better life. I was very sad she even asked me.

I visited Angelika in Wolfsburg the following year. We wrote each other for a while until they moved again to Southern Germany, Then I lost contact.

When I already lived in Canada I heard from a distant classmate that Angelika had married a French Count but left her husband shortly after the wedding, I still wonder what happened to my friend Angelika. She still lives in my heart,

My Mother’s Fight For Justice and Angelika My New Friend (1956)

The first year of high school was a big adjustment for us. We had to get used to a variety of teachers and teaching styles. Learning a new language was fun, but also very difficult. We had to memorize lots of English words, their difficult pronunciations and their idiosyncratic spellings. To this day, the infamous “th” is still a challenge for me sometimes. Spelling rules are fairly consistent in German but in English exceptions to the rule are common place. Memorization of words and phrases seemed to be the best solution.

Although school ended at 1:15 p.m. we had very little free time because of heavy loads of homework for each subject. In the afternoon, my brother and I would sit at our only table in the small room of the “House of Rocky Docky” and study. His homework was completely different from mine. We hardly talked to each other each of us immersed in a different world. My father was at work in the Krupp dental laboratory and would not return until supper time. My mother had her own battles to fight. She was constantly on the go trying to fight for my father’s right to receive a government pension from the police force he had worked for until Germany was divided.

Most people in Germany did not have phone service when I grew up. This made it difficult for my mother to talk to government officials and other important contact persons involved in her struggle to get justice for my father. It was a difficult and stressful undertaking for my mother and very exhausting. She had to travel by bus or train to government offices in other cities trying to get an appointment. She had to write letters and fill out long forms which often landed in the wrong departments or were filed away unread. There was an overload of administrative work for the government officials to accommodate all the refugee claims from the east.

Often she was at the point of exhaustion and desperation to give up. The bureaucracy was so overwhelming that all her efforts seemed futile. But my mother’s tenacity and indefatigable spirit finally paid off. After seven years. as a last desperate effort, she went to the highest government department to plead for justice. Miraculously, she was received by a representative of the German Chancellor Adenauer who had a sympathetic ear and in no time got the “ball” rolling. My father finally was entitled to a sizable pension and a big back pay for the lost years. My mother had won the struggle for financial security at the expense of her health and vitality. The years of worries and deprivations had taken their toll. But my brother and I were too young and self-absorbed to notice. For us she remained a pillar of strength and comfort. Her love for us was inexhaustible.

After this memory fragment of my mother back to my life. Shortly after our second year of high school had started “Mecki” our home room teacher introduced a new student. He assigned her to sit beside me since I had lost my desk partner from the previous year. She had failed the grade.

I glanced furtively at my new companion who looked straight ahead at Mecki. Angelika had a cute snub-nose and big blue eyes with long dark eyelashes. Her short hair curled softly around her round red cheeks. She had a nicely curved mouth and dimples. When she eventually dared to smile at me, she looked very beautiful.

It didn’t take us long to overcome our initial shyness and we started to get to know each other during recess. Towards the end of the week. Angelika asked if I would be allowed to visit her on the last day of the school week. We could walk together to her place and her dad would drive me home at night.

My parents had no objections and on Saturday after early dismissal we walked together to her home. It was a fairly long walk to an unfamiliar part of town. There were lots of trees and beautiful yards. In Germany, most people do not own houses but live in apartments. Angelika stopped in front of a big cast iron gate and opened it with a key. We walked through a long garden path to a big house with lots of windows. A young slender lady opened the front door. She had raven black hair and pale blue eyes. With a gentle smile she kissed Angelika on the cheek and then shook my hand in greeting. I hadn’t expected Angelika’s mother to look so young. She served us some delicious little pastries in a bright sun room. The delicate cakes looked like the ones I had longingly admired in the window of the fancy pastry shop in town, Finally I had a taste of these small fruit tarts covered with strawberries and topped with whipped cream.

Frau Janzen asked me a lot of questions about my family, my interests and hobbies and about school. She had a gentle voice and kind eyes. After our refreshments she showed me all the rooms in the beautiful house and I was reminded of our big, wonderful home in Gotha, which we had lost. Our room at the Old House where we lived now was about the size of this sun room.

Angelika’s bedroom was very large and so bright and colourful. She even had a piano in the middle of the room and her mom made her play me some tunes. Then she left us alone and we spent some time in the park like yard playing badminton on the lawn. We had fun and laughed a lot. Later we sat on her bed talking about school and joking about our teachers.

Suddenly I heard barking and a male voice. Angelika’s dad who was the manager of the municipal hydro corporation had returned from his office with their German shepherd dog called Torro. Angelika and Torro greeted each other exuberantly. Angelika’s dad looked on with a big boyish smile on his face. Then he turned to me.

“You must be that special girl I have heard so much about “,, he said. “Don’t be afraid of Torro he is very gentle and would never hurt anyone. Come and pet him so he gets to know you.” Overcoming my fear I managed to stroke Torro gently on the back, which he seemed to like. He sat down in front of me staring at my face obviously expecting more attention. Angelika’s dad looked very easygoing and friendly. He laughed a lot and made me feel at ease.

I will talk more about Angelika and her family in my next post.

Sex Education and Other Memories of My School Days in the 50’s

Life was school and school was life for me in those days. Everything revolved around school.

Every morning, except on Sundays school started exactly at 8:00 a:m. and the big portal with the stained glass motto “Not for School but for Life” was locked by the caretaker. If you were late you had to ring a bell. The custodian would open for you and ceremoniously accompany you to the principal’s office at the top floor of the school. Frau Lindemann reigned like a queen at her huge shiny mahogany desk. She was a short, round lady with snow white hair, bright blue eyes and very red cheeks. She looked kind, but that was deceiving. She was a tough disciplinarian. The first time you were late she would give you a severe reprimand. If you were late three times you would be suspended for a week. If you had three suspensions you would be dismissed from school. We feared Frau Lindemann and would only enter her office with great trepidations.

Our classrooms looked austerely functional. There were huge blackboards on the front and side wall opposite the big windows. We would sit in neat rows of two side by side desks facing the main black board in front and the teacher’s work station. The room was bare of pictures, displays, plants or any decorative items. There was nothing to distract us.

However, in this boring physical environment we had the most exciting experiences. We would vicariously relive mankind’s quest for scientific knowledge and spiritual truths. Most of our teachers were passionate about expanding our minds. They tried to teach us skills to foster critical thinking, problem solving and effective oral and written communication.

We read works of world literature, first in German and then in English and French and in the last three years a few excerpts in Latin. We would discuss, debate and talk about the great themes which moved and influenced man’s quest for the meaning and purpose of life.

I loved our philosophical discussions and would always actively participate. Although our teachers were in many respects very authoritarian they encouraged free thinking. We were expected and allowed to have our own ideas and opinions as long as we could back them up with strong arguments to prove their validity.

We were fortunate to have “Mecki” as our classroom teacher. He was very eloquent in expressing deep thoughts and guiding us through difficult discussions. He was a great model.

The emphasis of our school was on language arts, while science related subjects were somewhat neglected. Our physics teacher did not expect much of us. He would spent most of his lessons telling us interesting and entertaining anecdotes of his life and war experiences. Maybe he did not want to waste his efforts teaching science to girls who would never pursue a career in that field. This was still the pervasive opinion at that time. Although I was not scientifically inclined i once delivered an amazing technical drawing of a Wankel motor. That was my one and only success in science and I earned the respect of my teacher. I have to admit remorsefully that my brother had helped me with it.

Our chemistry teacher liked spirits. She would tell us more about beer brewing techniques and wine and liqueur making than chemical formulas.

Biology was another neglected subject. Our squeamish elderly teacher was supposed to provide sex education. She would show us a film of a pregnant mare who miraculously all of a sudden had a newborn foal beside her. The actual birthing scenes were left out. We were left in the dark.

Another substitute teacher took over the topic by telling us a Greek legend of a pot which eventually finds it’s matching lid. It sounded all Greek to us and we were quite bewildered . Eventually we had to search for answers in real life not at school.

This Miraculous Life

by Gertrud Klopp

education