Non Scolae Sed Vitae or We Do Not Learn for School But For Life (1954-65)

When my twin brother and I were at the end of grade 4, my parents had to decide if they wanted us to go on to high school. After successfully concluding grade 13, we would obtain the senior matriculation certificate, Abitur in German, which was a prerequisite for post secondary education at a university.

Only a small percentage of students would enter high school. Your elementary teacher had to recommend you based on your performance and you had to pass a stringent entrance exam. While all children by law received eight years of free elementary school education, high school students had to pay tuition fees and finance their books and other educational materials. It was an honor and a privilege to attend high school. You belonged to an elite group if you passed your senior matriculation. Only about half the number of students that started high school would accomplish that hard to achieve goal.

There were scholarships for top students who had financial difficulties to pay the tuition fees. My twin brother and I, plus my best friend Gisela, were the lucky recipients after successfully completing grade 4 with top marks.

For the first time in our life, my twin brother and I would attend different schools. The two high schools in Velbert were segregated by gender and academic orientation. I went to the modern language branch for girls and my brother to the science and ancient language branch for boys. While the school buildings were in close proximity, we had no contact with students of the opposite sex for our entire high school life except for a short extra curricular ballroom dancing course in grade 10.

While our school had a high percentage of male teachers, my brother only once, for a short time, had a female teacher teaching at his school. That was “sensational” for the boys and she enjoyed a special status. The boys “adored” her like a queen.

This is the beloved school I attended for nine years. Over the entrance was a stained glass window which read “Non scholae sed vitae.” I hardly ever missed a day and was always eager to go and learn for life.

We started out with 45 girls in grade 5 and after nine years only 15 of us graduated. Our homeroom teacher was called Mr. Meckenstock. He mentored us for the entire school time. We fondly nicknamed him Mecki after the beloved little stuffed hedgehog toy of our generation.

Mecki did only faintly resemble the little toy because he had lost most of his hair. Although he was very strict (like almost all German teachers), he was also kind and warmhearted. Above all, he was a unique character full of contradictions, He taught us English and French with lots of enthusiasm. He was proficient in both languages, even though he had never studied them in the native country. In fact, he had never been abroad, until we went on a field trip to Paris with him in grade 11. The comical adventures of that memorable trip I will never forget. But I will talk about them in detail later.

Mecki laid great stress on oral participation in classroom discussions which I really liked. I enjoyed sharing thoughts and opinions on ideas or books we had to read eventually in English and French.

Our math teacher, nicknamed Ata (father), was also popular, This short, round, red-cheeked jovial man was a wizard with numbers. Every math lesson he magically turned into a fun experience by engaging us in group math competitions at the blackboard. He really cared that we understood and freely helped us when we had problems. We tried very hard not to disappoint him.

These two outstanding teachers probably had the greatest influence on my academic achievement. I will talk more about other teachers in the near future,

Teachers at my time were highly respected. When they entered the classroom, we had to rise and greet them in unison. Whenever we volunteered an answer, we also had to stand up. In their presence we had to act and speak politely and respectfully. But life is full of paradoxes. We girls were not as docile and disciplined as was expected.

Before concluding this post, one more afterthought on our school building. As I mentioned, the boy’s high school was adjacent to ours. The schools were so close that we had to cross the boys school yard to go down some rock steps to our own yard.

We were not allowed to talk or interact with the boys when walking to our yard below. The boys would stand at the retaining wall and look down on us. Maybe that reflected an attitude symbolic for that time.

Eine “Ohrfeige” (slap in the face) by a Teacher; Meeting Father Rhine and Other Memories of My First Year in Velbert 1954-55

As I already mentioned in a previous post I was happy to have regular school again and was looking forward to every day of classes.

Two days after my mom had enrolled us at the Elementary School Am Baum (at The Tree) I woke up with a sore throat. I was prone to suffer from severe allergies, especially in the spring during pollen season. My mother suggested that I stay home and she sent my brother off at the usual time. I did not want to miss school and pleaded with my mother to let me go until she relented.

I ran as fast as I could not to be late but when I arrived classes had just started. Out of breath I reached the class room door where my teacher received me. As I already indicated earlier he seldom smiled and was very strict. He looked especially serious this morning, “Why are you late?”. he asked in a stern voice, Still out of breath I stammered, “I wasn’t feeling well.”

“Don’t lie to me!”, he shouted and without warning slapped me across the face.

Never in my life before had I been physically punished by my parents or other adults For a moment I felt like frozen in time. I was so stunned and shocked I did not know what was happening to me. Eventually, like a sleepwalker I made it to my desk and sat there dazed until dismissal time. I felt humiliated by this unjust punishment and very sad. Until then I had idolized and adored teachers. In my mind they embodied the highest human qualities like wisdom, knowledge, fairness, justice and kindness. This undeserved slap in my face shattered that illusion.

Only when I got home did I cry. It wasn’t the physical pain of the slap in my face that hurt but the emotional pain of undeserved punishment and the betrayal of trust by an abusive person in authority.

Most people did not own phones when I grew up and so my mother talked to the teacher in person the next day, but the damage was done.

To my relief the school year came to an end about two weeks later. Our new teacher in grade 5 quickly restored my faith and trust in teachers again.

Although he was very strict as well, he never lost his temper or control. I loved his exciting lessons, his fairness and his warm smile and sense of humor.

This teacher decided to take us on a field trip to meet Vater Rhein or Father Rhine as the longest and mightiest German river is fondly called.

On a beautiful sunny spring day we went by train to Cologne. Cologne is the fourth largest city of Germany situated at the Rhine river.

We visited the awe inspiring cathedral which towers majestically at the river shore. We went down to the banks and immersed our hands into the water to greet Father Rhine. He was starting to get polluted. Twenty years later when visiting the Rhine river again my friends prevented me from putting my hands in the water because of the dangerous levels of pollution. Now Father Rhine is clean and safe again.

Towards the end of our excursion we walked through the Altstadt or the picturesque historic part of the city. We did window shopping and were allowed to buy some small souvenirs in the romantic boutiques.

I remember the fun we had reading the ornate and artistically designed shop and pub signs hanging on beautifully crafted cast iron brackets. We laughed at the often funny and clever names. A butcher shop was called The Jolly Fat Sow, A wine pub was named The Bottomless Barrel. In the Busy Bee Bakery we bought some honey sweetened pastries.

Back at school we had to write about our excursion. Our teacher told us that the best report would be published in our class journal. We all had to read out what we had written and then we voted which one we liked best. I was the proud and happy winner because I described in detail all the humorous signs and other fun impressions of our exciting trip.

Getting to Know my New Hometown Velbert and Surrounding Area in 1954

Velbert is a big town in North Rhine Westphalia. Its primary industry is small scale steel production. It is renowned worldwide for the manufacturing of keys, locks and fittings. You can see all kinds of interesting locks and keys in the local museum.

Velbert has a primarily small based metal industry which evolved from backyard forges. Right beside the Old House was such a small forge. At suppertime we would see tired and grimy looking workers emerge from the dark, windowless stone building to trudge home,

My mother had respect and pity for these hard workers looking emaciated and pale from working long hours in that hellish plant. North of Velbert is the city of Essen where the largest steel manufacturing plant of Europe was located. My dad found employment in the dental laboratories of the 400 year old Krupp dynasty of steel manufacturing.

My Dad at the Krupp Dental Laboratory in Essen 1954.

Every morning my dad would leave by bus around 6:00 a.m. to go to work. It would take him about an hour to get to his workplace in Essen. He would return at 6:00 p.m. dead tired but happy to have employment with a prestigious and socially progressive company, which treated their employees well.

Symbol of the seamless railway wheels patented by Alfred Krupp.

For my parent’s 25th wedding anniversary a representative of the Krupp management visited my parents at the Old House and delivered some gifts and well wishes. My parents were touched and felt honored by this caring and generous treatment of my dad’s employer.

Located near the city of Essen is the beautiful lake Baldeney, a dammed reservoir of the Ruhr river. It was the destination of one of our first family excursion on a sunny spring day. It would become our favorite recreation spot. Lake Baldeney has personal significance for me because it changed my life forever. But I won’t get ahead of myself.

My dad who loved nature and above all water sports was delighted to have this jewel of a lake in our vicinity. It would still take some effort to travel there by bus, but these outings were recreational highlights and brightened up our otherwise drab existence in the Old House.

A few times my dad and I walked the ate approximate 16 km distance through forests and fields. I felt very proud that I could keep up with my dad on these long hikes. My brother who was not fond of swimming in cold water and hated exertion would seldom accompany us.

On those hikes my dad and I would often daydream about the future. We would envision a beautiful home built on a hill surrounded by forests and overlooking a big lake. Far in the future this dream would come true for me at the Arrow Lakes in Canada. On his last visit to Canada before his death my father experienced the fulfilment of our dream for a short time with us.

The first time we walked barefoot at the shore of Lake Baldeney we were puzzled that our feet were sooty black even after a swim in the clear water. At that time the coal industry was still in full production and there was heavy pollution around Essen. Blue skies as seen on these pictures were rare in my childhood but all the more appreciated when we had them.

This is the house and the lake of our dreams in Fauquier, B.C. at the Arrow Lakes.

Memories of Our Life in the Old House of Rocky Docky in Velbert (1954)

When I woke up from a deep sleep the next morning, I could see through the big window that a clean blanket of snow had covered the drabness of the yard outside the Old House of Rocky Docky. My father had heard the popular song on the radio and aptly applied it to our new abode. It would always cheer us up to hear our “theme song”, and we would sing it with gusto to make the old house rock.

The bright morning sun made the snow crystals sparkle and dance, In spite of the first signs of spring earlier, winter was not over yet.

My parents were already dressed to go out. My mother told us that they had been allocated some funds by the manager of the refugee shelter to buy household items, utensils and other necessary equipment for everyday living.

Our mother told us that before she would go shopping, she would enroll us in the nearby school called Elementary School at the Tree. Since we had missed classes for more than a month in the transition camp in Massen, we were looking forward to a regular school life again.

The school looked new and bright. Our teacher was a young, tall man with a serious expression. He didn’t smile at us once. There were about thirty students quietly staring at us when we entered the classroom. I recognized a girl and a boy I had seen last night at the Old House. When our teacher introduced us as refugee children from Thuringia, a tall girl with big brown eyes smiled at me. Gisela was her name and she eventually became one of my best friends. She still lives close to Velbert, Germany. We have only seen each other twice after I moved to Canada but we have been corresponding with each other for almost 50 years.

i soon found out that she was also born in the “East” and came from Eisenach, a town close to Gotha in Thuringia. Eisenach is renown for its imposing Wartburg castle.

Wartburg castle. World heritage site in Eisenach, Germany.

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Minstrel Contest. Sängerkrieg at the Wartburg.

In this castle the famous medieval minstrel contest (Sängerkrieg) took place and there are many legends about this unique historic event.

The Wartburg is also closely associated with Martin Luther. He took sanctuary there to translate the New Testament of the Bible for the first time into the vernacular German language in 1543.

Dresden_Germany_Martin-Luther-Denkmal-01

Martin Luther Statue in Dresden

In 1999 the Wartburg was declared a World Heritage Site.

After this digression to the Wartburg back to my memories of the first days in Velbert.

When school was dismissed, a girl from one grade higher than us approached me and introduced herself as Margit. I had briefly seen her through the window at the Old House this morning. Margit smiled at me warmly and invited me to walk back with her. She became my closest friend for the time we lived at the Old House.

Margit was mature beyond her age. She was a motherly type and a born leader. We liked her cheerful and outgoing personality. Fights amongst us kids never lasted long because she was a peace maker and we trusted in her judgement. There were about 15-20 kids about our age at the Old House and we spent most of our time playing in the big yard around the old building. In its younger days, the Old House used to be a beer garden restaurant with a bowling alley. The hedged in yard with old trees had been the garden area of the venue where people would eat and drink on warm and sunny days.

Although the yard was neglected, it was an ideal play area for kids. We had plenty of safe space to engage in ball games, skip rope, play badminton, hopscotch, marbles, tag and even hide and seek in the bushes and behind the old trees. There were even some grassy areas where we could put blankets to suntan, read or do gymnastics.

We played outside in all kinds of weather until night time. The rooms in the Old House were too small for children to play.

While our parents struggled to cope under such primitive and restrictive conditions in the decrepit emergency shelter, we had lots of freedom, space and companionship with other kids our age. We were happy.

Moving to the Old House of Rocky Docky in Velbert, Rhineland, 1954

One day in early spring our mother told us that we would soon be leaving the camp in Aurich, East Frisia, We would move to a place called Velbert situated in the Rhineland region of West Germany. My mother sounded very excited and joyful because she was born and raised in the Rhineland, a beautiful part of Germany.

For me it meant saying goodbye to my best friend Ingeborg and all our many other playmates with whom we had shared so many exciting adventures and experiences.

However, before moving to Velbert, we first had to spend several weeks in a transitory camp in Massen, a small town near Unna, close to Dortmund, which was our first station in the “Golden West”. All I remember from that short stay is that my mom was quite upset because we had to sleep in a big dormitory again with lots of strangers. And to make things worse, we had to lie on straw mattresses. But my parents consoled themselves with the prospect that we would soon move to Velbert. That’s where apartment buildings for refugees were being constructed at a rapid pace.

Refugee Camp in Massen by Unna

On a bright, sunny day in early Spring we were loaded with all our luggage and several other families onto the open back of a big, old transport truck with makeshift benches.

My brother and I had rarely ridden in a car. This was the first time in a truck. For us it was exciting! My mom thought it was odd that we were transported like baggage. She didn’t like that we were all crammed together in this small, drafty and not too clean space. But my brother and i were laughing with the other kids and some boisterous men enjoying the cool breeze and the changing scenery.

After a few hours we were all shaken up by the bumpy ride. The increasing cool drafts, the loud noise of the motor and the rattling of the vehicle started to make us feel sick. Suddenly the truck came to an abrupt halt beside an old, dilapidated stone building which looked almost like a dungeon, dark and foreboding.

The Old House of Rocky Docky in Velbert, Germany.

The driver jumped out of the cab, opened the ramp of the truck and started unloading the luggage and helping us to jump out. Dazed and bewildered, numb from the cold and very hungry we all stood speechless for a moment. “Take your belongings and follow me,” the driver told us.

He led us around the extremely long building to a courtyard with a row of several outhouses. “You can go there in a minute,” he told us, “but let me show you your quarters first. This old building used to be a pub and a bowling alley,” he continued, “now it has been converted into an emergency shelter for people like you. I’ll introduce you to the manager of this establishment.” He laughed and pointed to a man who just stepped out of the entrance to receive us.

We were the first ones to be led to our room. We had to go through a long hall with several big sinks, laundry tubs and a wash line with a few rags drying. There were brooms, mops. pails. garbage cans and other equipment stored along the walls. The evening light coming in through big windows could hardly soften the drabness of this dingy hall.

At the end of it there was a door leading to a small room with a large recessed window in the raw rock wall. It looked like a prison cell except there were no bars on the window. There were two sets of bunk beds, a table with four chairs, a small table with a two burner hotplate and a small dresser. “This is your temporary place until your apartment is completed,” the manager told us. And in response to my parent’s questioning glance he added, “This may take up to two years. We just don’t know where to house all you people,” he grumbled leaving us to attend to the other families.

For a moment we all stood dumbfounded until the silence was broken by my mother’s loud sobs. She collapsed on one of the beds and cried and cried. I had never seen my mother cry like that before and it shocked me deeply. My father looked helpless. Eventually he started stroking my mother’s back. My brother and I climbed onto our top beds completely bewildered.

Eventually my mother’s crying stopped. She rallied and took us to the outhouse. She found a clean wash basin to scrub the grime of the long dusty truck ride of our face and hands. She magically produced some bread, butter, cheese and jam. She also made some weak tea on the hot plate. We were so starved, it tasted heavenly. Then she hugged us warmly and said, “With God’s help we’ll make it through.”

Some more Memories of our Time in the Refugee Camp in East Frisia, Germany in 1953

Before t am going to tell you about our move to the Old House of Rocky Docky in the Rhineland region of Germany, I want to talk a bit more about our experiences in the refugee camp in Aurich, East Frisia.

Most children live in the present. To this day I always liked to live in the present moment rather than in the past or future. However, writing my blog now forces me to relive the past. This is a request of our five sons who want to hear my side of the “Peter-Gertrud Story ” my husband is writing, I have to admit that I actually start enjoying this trip on memory lane. Now back to the past…

Every day is a new experience for children and I enjoyed every day of my new life. No time to think of the past. School was exciting because of our inspiring and kind teacher. With so many families living in close proximity in the camp my brother and I had lots of friends. Most of the time we spent outside playing in those endless meadows surrounding the camp. There was never a dull moment because someone would always come up with an exciting activity or game. We skipped rope, played ball games, did yoga type gymnastics often inventing new poses, had talent shows singing and performing songs we had heard on the radio. We played all the old fashioned games like marbles, hopscotch, hide and seek, catch or make belief games. Sometimes we would just collect daisies, dandelions or other flowers to braid wreaths, or we would lie back in the lush meadows and daydream.

Looking back now from an adult perspective life for my parents was not that idyllic. They were eager to have a place again where they could put down roots and call it home. But time dragged on. Sometimes my mom would take us to the picturesque town of Aurich, where my dad had found a temporary position as dental technician at the local dentist’s office. On those outings my mom would slip quietly into the beautiful old church to kneel down and pray a few Our Fathers. Often it looked like she was crying.

My brother and I loved these town outings because my mother would buy us cones with whipping cream, a specialty of the region, which is known for its sweet and rich cream from happy cows grazing on those lush pastures. My mom would drink East Frisian black tea with little “clouds” of heavy cream, also a specialty of the region.

November 11, is a special holiday for children in East Frisia, called St. Martin’s day. A few days before the special night we were taught at school how to make paper lanterns. We also learned to sing special St. Martin’s songs.

On the night of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, we dressed up in costumes and then walked in a group from house to house singing the songs we had learned. Like at Halloween we would receive candies or other goodies in return. For my brother and me it was the first time we experienced such a magical night.

In contrast to Halloween it does not have any scary origins. The historical St. Martin was known as a friend of children and the poor and there are many legends about his kindness and charity. He once shared his coat with a beggar in a severe snowstorm to save his life. Often this legend is reenacted in a parade with St. Martin riding on a horse with the beggar wearing half his coat.

Memories of the Aurich Refugee Camp (1953-54)

After our first night in the crowded dormitory shared with twelve strangers and with other strangers passing through our room from the adjacent sick room my mother was very upset. She feared for our health and well being due to the proximity of the contagious people who had to pass frequently through our door to visit the facilities or other places in the building.

After my mother voiced her concerns to the management we were assigned to a small private room which was furnished with two sets of metal bunk beds, a table with four chairs and a small wardrobe. Although this room was smaller than my father’s study in Gotha we felt happy to have more privacy. We still had to share our door to the hallway with the occupants of the neighboring room; a young widow and her two children. Her son was five years older than my brother and I, while her daughter two years younger than us. But in spite of the age difference we became good friends.

Rainer and Gabi’s mom always looked glamorous. She dressed like a film star. I knew how film stars looked like from pictures of American actors and actresses which were in the packages of chewing gum. I had started collecting those pictures when staying with our friends in Dortmund.

When I made a comment about her mom’s clothes to Gabi she told me her mother’s secret. Her mom had found a way to contact fan clubs of actors in the United States. She would tell them of her plight as widowed refugee asking for charitable donations. Among other things she would receive big parcels with the most fashionable, expensive outfits, shoes and accessories often only worn a few times by her idols.

Gabi’s brother Rainer went to the Merchant Marine Corps as a cadet after he turned 14 years old and had passed grade 8. He brought me a beautiful scarf from one of his training sessions in Hamburg, the biggest harbor in Germany. My mom proudly displayed it on the wall as you can see on the picture. I admired and adored Rainer. He would be traveling to many of the places my dad had shown us on the world map.

My brother and i adjusted quickly to our new life in the camp although we did not like to eat in the crowded and noisy dining hall. I in particular was a very picky eater and often felt nauseated just from the food odors permeating the building. My father who had experienced extreme hunger in the war had no sympathy with me and would get very upset and angry when I refused to eat certain foods or left something on my plate. Eventually my mother would feed us separately at different times so my dad could enjoy his meals without stress.

After a long break in Dortmund my brother and I were able to go to school again right at our camp. Makeshift classrooms were set up in one of the large lecture and meeting halls. We sat at round tables which was a nice break from individual desks.

I always loved school and even enjoyed homework. Since we were instructed by one teacher in a multigrade setting we had to work independently for long periods of time. Math problems were my favorites because when they were completed we were allowed to read or draw. I would always draw beautiful princesses in lavish dresses.

I remember the day I received my first report card. My brother and our friends were walking across the big court yard back to the living quarters when we were stopped by a stranger. “Well”, he asked, “who of you children received the best report card today?” Immediately some of our friends pointed at my brother, some at me and some at another boy. “Let me see your report cards”, the man demanded. Timidly we handed them to him. After studying them for a while he handed them back except mine. “You have the best,” he said with a smile, “congratulations, you deserve a reward.” He reached into his wallet and gave me some money, the equivalent of about $5.00. I was so stunned I could barely say thank you. I never had so much money before. My dad was so proud hearing the story that he matched the stranger’s reward.

Although I missed my best friend in Gotha, I made lots of new friends. After school we would play on the big meadows surrounding the buildings. Contrary to our parents the restricted living area in that small room was not an issue. We had lots of space and freedom to roam on the meadows and green spaces surrounding the barracks.

One day we ventured as a group out of the camp confines to a nearby treed area to play hide and seek. It was almost getting dark when one of the kids shouted, “Let’s go back, there is a dangerous man trying to catch us!” With pounding hearts we raced back to the camp gate and breathlessly told the attending guard that we were pursued by a dangerous man. Although, as I found out later none of us had actually seen this man, we were totally convinced that we were telling the truth. In our minds he existed. I guess this is a small example of mass hysteria. We never ventured into that forest area again.

A Year in the Refugee Camp in Aurich Germany (1953-54)

Happy to be finally reunited with our beloved parents we had to say good bye to our new friends in Dortmund.

Our parents told us that we would not go back home to Gotha for a long, long time until the two separated Germanys would be reunited again.

First we would have to live in a refugee camp for some time until we would hopefully find a new home in the Rhineland region where my mother was born. After the destruction caused by the war and the rapid immigration of refugees from the East housing was in short supply. There was a construction frenzy all over West Germany to keep up with the urgent demand for housing. People had to live in temporary shelters often for a long period of time.

We were assigned to live in a refugee camp in Lower Saxony. Abandoned military barracks were converted into a refuge camp in Sandhorst, a small community close to Aurich, a quaint small town. This camp could house thousands of refugees.

The buildings looked bright and clean. They were surrounded by lots of green spaces. There were meadows and lush pastures stretching to the endless horizon on this flat landscape.

We were assigned to a room with six bunk beds. Three other families shared the room with us. From our dormitory a door led to another room about the same size. Occupants of that adjacent room shared our door to the hallway. Thus there was a lot of traffic through our room and there was little privacy.

We were told that we should avoid close contact with the people in the neighboring room because they had a very contagious disease. I noticed that my mother looked quite shocked when she heard that. My brother and I, however, were very excited with the prospect of sleeping on the upper bunk beds

After we stored our small suitcases under our beds, the camp attendant led us to a big hall lined with multiple long racks of clothing in all sizes. They were donated by American charities and other organizations and people from all over the world. We were invited to pick some clothing we needed and liked. That was exciting for me, because I had never had the opportunity to chose a dress on my own. I had always worn hand-me-downs sent from my mom’s distant relatives.

I picked a dress, which the attending lady told us was donated by a family from South Africa. I loved the dress and imagined a girl like me having worn it in a far away place.

The kind lady invited us to pose in our newly chosen clothes for a photo out on the lawn in the mild spring air. We all looked happy on this rare family picture, the first one in the “Golden West”.

First Impressions of the Golden West in the year 1953.

I want to continue talking about my memories of the first years in the Golden West.

My sister’s friends, who hosted us while my parents were in the refugee camp in Berlin to ask for asylum, were very kind to us. Their two young sons became our friends and especially my brother loved their toys. The Meccano set was his favorite. He would amaze us with his elaborate constructions.

For a while we were distracted by our exciting new esperiences. But as time dragged on without any contact with our parents I started getting very homesick.

I missed my parents who had vanished so unexpectedly. I missed my loving sister and my two little nephews.

I missed school and our friends. (Except for a short visit to see what a West German school looked like, we were not allowed to attend classed with our host children.)

I missed our beautiful, spacious home in Gotha with the large windows letting the light shine in. I missed the comfort and warmth sitting with our dad on the bench of our tile stove listening to his stories. I missed exploring the world on the big map covering the wall in his study. I missed playing with our friends on our quiet street flanked by old linden trees leading to our beloved castle park.

I missed our family bike or tram excursions into the vast forests… I missed my mom’s cooking since I was a picky eater. I even missed my teacher Mrs. Goose, who for some reason was not liked by my father.

Before going to sleep i dreamed about what I would tell my best friend Anneliese about the Golden West.

I was going to tell her that our home in Gotha was a much better place. That here in Dortmund people lived in small crammed apartments on busy streets where it was not safe to play or even walk alone.

On weekends instead of going to the park or hiking in the forests people would visit the graveyards that looked like parks. But you could not freely run or roam about or play and explore. You had to walk respectfully and quietly like adults and sit on stone benches near the graves to silently pray or meditate.

I would tell my friend that the Golden West was not golden. It was a figment of the mind like the story of Santa Claus or the Easter bunny. As for the big allure of freedom it was overrated. Although, I could have chocolate and even bubble gum, I felt more restricted here than at home.

My sister’s friends did not let their boys and us go anywhere without supervision except to the nearby fenced-in playground. They would drop us off and pick us up,

In Gotha we were allowed to play for hours in our neighborhood. Once my brother and I decided to visit the castle Friedenstein on our own. A friendly castle guard noticing our curious glances at the open castle portal invited us in and gave us a tour telling us some of the historical highlights.

Famous Gotha Lovers (Liebespaar)

Thus, we learned that even the great Emperor Napoleon had slept in the pompous, canopied bed that looked like a sailing ship. Since our dad was a history buff, he had told us about Napoleon who fascinated him.

Suddenly I longed for all the familiar things of home, which I seemed to be losing. Every night I prayed that we would return to Gotha soon.

But day after day my brother and I were told that we had to wait a bit longer for our parents to get us.

One afternoon, my brother and our new friends were at the nearby playground with a group of other children. I was gently swinging back and forth dreaming of playing with Anneliese when a boy I had never met started pushing me. At first I didn’t mind. Then in spite of my protests, he pushed me higher and higher. My screams to stop seemed to entice him to push even harder and higher. I was terrified of the dizzying height and the unrelenting forceful behavior of the big boy who seemed to delight in my distress.

All of a sudden I lost control and fell flat onto the ground face first. The fall knocked the wind out of me and I struggled for a long time to gasp for air.

Suddenly it was very quiet on the play ground. All the kids had run away except my brother and our friends. They stood around me looking worried.

Luckily, I was not seriously hurt. However, my faith in the kindness of people in the Golden West was shaken. I had never met such a mean bully at home.

Miraculously, the next morning our hosts told us that our parents were on their way to get us.

A Short Interlude Before the Continuation of The First Years in the Golden West

Before I start my post, i want to mention that I don’t always use the right names of people. For example. my first teacher’s name was not Mrs.Goose. My father could be very sarcastic. He didn’t seem to like my teacher and called her often “Dumme Gans” which meant “stupid goose”. As I stated in my post, she was definitely not stupid and I liked her. But I cannot remember her real name.

At this point I will digress a bit more to show how miraculously life is interconnected often in strange ways.

When I was twenty one years old I moved from the Golden West to the Wild West in Canada where I married Peter. For 10 years we lived in Alberta and then moved to this wonderful place Fauquier in British Columbia where we raised our five sons.

In Fauquier we became friends with Richard E. who had also immigrated to Canada from Germany, a few years before us.

After the Berlin Wall fell, and Germany was reunited, Richard invited us to his farm to meet his pen pal Peter. Richard and Peter, who lived in former East Germany, had corresponded for many years without ever meeting each other. Now Peter and his wife Edelgard finally free to travel decided to meet Richard in person. They celebrated their 25th anniversary on his Apple Grove farm.

Peter and I were quite surprised to find out that we were born almost at the same time in the same place. This is quite a coincidence since Germany is heavily populated and has a lot more towns and places than all of Canada.

Peter still lives in Germany. When he started reading my blog he was all excited. He tried to help me with some research about my school in Gotha.

He sent me the picture of the beautifully renovated school which I inserted in my post. He also tried to find out more about my first teacher, Mrs.Goose or Frau Gans.

He had contacted the principal who was distraught that he could not find any records or information on this teacher. “Our records from that time are a bit sketchy”, the principal had apologized.

I had a hearty laugh. But I realize that I should warn you that I try to stay as closely to the facts as possible but sometimes I use poetic freedom especially when I write about people I met along this miraculous journey of life. I painted this picture from a photo our son Stefan took on the golf course. Geese are beautiful and not “stupid.”

This Miraculous Life

by Gertrud Klopp