"They Were Like Ghosts"
(Author's Note: Regular readers will recall this lengthy entry a few months back, in which inter alia, I casually mentioned that, "For example, my inlaws were aged 12 and 17 when the war ended. My mother-in-law spent the war years on a farm in rural Bavaria." Subsequent to that post, I became aware of the events which I relate now. I had originally not planned to mention this for a number of reasons, primarily because I wasn't able to verify the accuracy what was told to me. That changed this week when we received a xeroxed copy of several newspaper articles from this publication, as well as copies of personal correspondence from a number of eyewitnesses. What follows is a synthesis of information from various sources. I offer it for your consideration.)
One Sunday afternoon, a few weeks ago, the phone rang here in The Hinterland, as it does every Sunday afternoon. The Official Mother-in-law of these pages was making her weekly call from Germany to check in. The EMBLOS retrieved the phone and sat down. Except, this call was not one concerning the activities of the prior seven days. Rather, my mother-in-law wished to talk about something else; something she'd tried very hard to forget over the decades, but which was all brought back to the front of her consciousness by one simple event.
She had received a letter.
This one was different, however, as the stamp and postmark indicated it originated in Antwerp, Belgium. Given that my mother-in-law has no friends or relatives in Antwerp or Belgium for that matter, her interest was piqued. She opened and read.
__________
If one looks at a map of the German state of Bavaria, one will notice that it borders the Czech Republic on the northeast side.This area, lying between the Danube River and the Czech border is known as the Oberpfalz or "Upper Palatinate. As one drives north from the Danube plains toward the border, the land becomes increasingly hilly and less populated. There are scores of small farming communities scattered throughout the countryside and as years have passed, these places of rural solitude have become increasingly attractive to city dwellers looking for a weekend hideaway from the hectic pace of modern German life. Nonetheless, most of these towns still have scores of families who've lived there forever.
One of these towns is Stamsried, and it is here where the Official Mother-in-law spent the war years as a little girl.
Stamsried sits on a hill overlooking the fields, pastures, gardens and orchards of the the farmers who live in town. As is the norm, the Catholic church and cemetery dominate the top of the hill, and one can see the church's "onion dome" for miles.
Immediately below the church, on the town's main thoroughfare, sits a Gasthaus or tavern which for many years was owned by my MIL's family. I call it a tavern, but in reality it was a tavern, farmhouse, barn, distillery, brewery and who knows what for the MIL's family.
The MIL's mother was one of ten children: five boys and five girls. During the war, two of the son's went into the army, as did the daughter's fiances and husbands. Thus, there was no one left to tend the place and as a result, the German regime sent a French POW to run the show. Five attractive young women and one Frenchman: a Frenchman's idea of Heaven.
Anyway, most of the daughters either stayed at the home or moved in during the war to help with farm work. The only daughter who was gone, lived in the big city, and fearful of bombing attacks which appeared occasionally, sent her only child to live with the relatives until the war was over. That child was the MIL.
Things during the war were fairly quiet in Stamsried. The people had enough to eat and, with the exception of the days when telegrams would arrive informing various families that a son or husband was Gefallen Im Osten, the war didn't intrude much. That is, until a very bad day in late April of 1945.
My MIL remembers it was a bitterly cold spring with unseasonably late snow and cold wet rains. The weather matched the mood as people by this time knew that the war was lost and just wanted it to be over. Daily, they prayed that it would end, either by surrender or occupation, preferably by the Americans who were pressing in on eastern Bavaria.
On one such April day with it alternating between wet snow and icy rain, my MIL heard a commotion in the street in front of the Gasthaus. She went outside to be confronted with something she'd never seen nor imagined before.
The war had come to Stamsried.
The SS was in town, retreating from the advancing Americans. They'd left Flossenbürg headed south toward Dachau, but their train had been strafed by American fighters and disabled. Thus, in their cowardice and being unwilling to actually face a foe which could shoot back, they were driving a group of prisoners through the streets, heading anywhere, just away.
All the prisoners were in rags; most had no shoes. No matter what they wore, the yellow Star of David was always visible.
The townspeople began lining up on the streets to watch and many came out of their homes with blankets and food only to be shoved aside by the SS, who threatened anyone who tried to intervene with immediate execution.
And so the group struggled on, described by my MIL in the words which are the title to this entry.
As my MIL stood there, the French POW came and put his arm around her and took her back inside, telling her she didn't need to see it. Sometime later, she heard shots from outside. She learned that the SS had tried to round up the boys in the local Hitler Youth to supplement their ranks, but the Mayor had refused, saying, "It doesn't make any sense anymore."
Whereupon, the SS then shot many of their prisoners to lessen the number of prisonersand prevent escapes, leaving only eight boys aged 14-16. As for the young German boys who were about the age of my elder son, at gunpoint, they ordered them to bury the bodies of the victims in the woods. One of those German boys was my MIL's cousin. He was fourteen then, and bears the burden of those shootings on his soul, because he believes his failure to join the ranks of the guards resulted in the deaths of innocents.
Then, the SS left, the eight remaining prisoners with them.
Yet, waiting for them outside of town, as they cleared the cleared the last buildings and marched into the countryside, was an advance unit of the American Army.
"We hadn't heard anything. Nobody knew where they came from; they just popped out of the fields like mushrooms," said my MIL. A firefight ensued and in the confusion, the remaining Jewish boys fled for the town seeking refuge.
One of these was named Bernat Nasch, from Czechoslovakia. He'd just seen his parents gunned down and dashed back in order to look for them. There he met Theresa Werner, the EMBLOS' great aunt and wartime matriarch of the clan. She found him and brought him in to the aforementioned gasthaus. She and the rest of her family fed him and clothed him. Bernat stayed with them some six months until October 1945, when he finally left for a permanent refugee camp, from whence he emigrated in Israel and ultimately to Belgium.
Antwerp.
Mr. Nasch, In A Photo Taken By American Authorities
Prior To Transfer To A Refugee Camp.
__________
After almost sixty-five years, Mr. Nasch discovered the identity of the little girl who shared the house with "all the women and one French POW."
My mother-in-law.
He'd written a letter relating how he'd been helped and asking to meet with her. He'd sent photos of himself and Theresa and the aunts and the French POW.
And one of the MIL as a shy little girl.
And so, later this month, she will go back to Stamsried to meet Mr. Nasch and others from that time who are coming to remember.
As we should remember.
R. Sherman
Postscript: We are told that Mr. Nasch has published a book in Belgium, written in Flemish, which details his warm memories of his time with EMBLOS' family. I hope to find it and acquire it. One of the reasons I was hesitant to write about this initially, is that I tend to take stories of German defiance with a grain of salt. If every German of a certain age, who said s/he fought the Nazis, had actually fought the Nazis, there wouldn't have been any Nazis. However, the kindness of the people of Stamsried to these eight boys has been documented and vouchsafed for by several sources so I'm relatively confident that I'm not sugarcoating it.
I met Theresa and her husband in the late 1980's along with several other of the sisters. They all lived to ripe old ages. None of them ever spoke of that day or that time. As stated, I think my MIL suppressed the memory because it was so horrific. As for the elder women, it was a simple matter of acknowledging a common humanity and acting accordingly.
Finally, the Official Daughter of these pages will be in Germany at this time and the organizer of the trip has asked for some English speakers to be present, as several of the families involved are coming from the United States. Frankly, I cannot think of a better thing for my Daughter to do, especially under the circumstances. It will be something she will never forget. -- RDS
One Sunday afternoon, a few weeks ago, the phone rang here in The Hinterland, as it does every Sunday afternoon. The Official Mother-in-law of these pages was making her weekly call from Germany to check in. The EMBLOS retrieved the phone and sat down. Except, this call was not one concerning the activities of the prior seven days. Rather, my mother-in-law wished to talk about something else; something she'd tried very hard to forget over the decades, but which was all brought back to the front of her consciousness by one simple event.
She had received a letter.
This one was different, however, as the stamp and postmark indicated it originated in Antwerp, Belgium. Given that my mother-in-law has no friends or relatives in Antwerp or Belgium for that matter, her interest was piqued. She opened and read.
__________
If one looks at a map of the German state of Bavaria, one will notice that it borders the Czech Republic on the northeast side.This area, lying between the Danube River and the Czech border is known as the Oberpfalz or "Upper Palatinate. As one drives north from the Danube plains toward the border, the land becomes increasingly hilly and less populated. There are scores of small farming communities scattered throughout the countryside and as years have passed, these places of rural solitude have become increasingly attractive to city dwellers looking for a weekend hideaway from the hectic pace of modern German life. Nonetheless, most of these towns still have scores of families who've lived there forever.
One of these towns is Stamsried, and it is here where the Official Mother-in-law spent the war years as a little girl.
Stamsried sits on a hill overlooking the fields, pastures, gardens and orchards of the the farmers who live in town. As is the norm, the Catholic church and cemetery dominate the top of the hill, and one can see the church's "onion dome" for miles.
Immediately below the church, on the town's main thoroughfare, sits a Gasthaus or tavern which for many years was owned by my MIL's family. I call it a tavern, but in reality it was a tavern, farmhouse, barn, distillery, brewery and who knows what for the MIL's family.
The MIL's mother was one of ten children: five boys and five girls. During the war, two of the son's went into the army, as did the daughter's fiances and husbands. Thus, there was no one left to tend the place and as a result, the German regime sent a French POW to run the show. Five attractive young women and one Frenchman: a Frenchman's idea of Heaven.
Anyway, most of the daughters either stayed at the home or moved in during the war to help with farm work. The only daughter who was gone, lived in the big city, and fearful of bombing attacks which appeared occasionally, sent her only child to live with the relatives until the war was over. That child was the MIL.
Things during the war were fairly quiet in Stamsried. The people had enough to eat and, with the exception of the days when telegrams would arrive informing various families that a son or husband was Gefallen Im Osten, the war didn't intrude much. That is, until a very bad day in late April of 1945.
My MIL remembers it was a bitterly cold spring with unseasonably late snow and cold wet rains. The weather matched the mood as people by this time knew that the war was lost and just wanted it to be over. Daily, they prayed that it would end, either by surrender or occupation, preferably by the Americans who were pressing in on eastern Bavaria.
On one such April day with it alternating between wet snow and icy rain, my MIL heard a commotion in the street in front of the Gasthaus. She went outside to be confronted with something she'd never seen nor imagined before.
The war had come to Stamsried.
The SS was in town, retreating from the advancing Americans. They'd left Flossenbürg headed south toward Dachau, but their train had been strafed by American fighters and disabled. Thus, in their cowardice and being unwilling to actually face a foe which could shoot back, they were driving a group of prisoners through the streets, heading anywhere, just away.
All the prisoners were in rags; most had no shoes. No matter what they wore, the yellow Star of David was always visible.
The townspeople began lining up on the streets to watch and many came out of their homes with blankets and food only to be shoved aside by the SS, who threatened anyone who tried to intervene with immediate execution.
And so the group struggled on, described by my MIL in the words which are the title to this entry.
As my MIL stood there, the French POW came and put his arm around her and took her back inside, telling her she didn't need to see it. Sometime later, she heard shots from outside. She learned that the SS had tried to round up the boys in the local Hitler Youth to supplement their ranks, but the Mayor had refused, saying, "It doesn't make any sense anymore."
Whereupon, the SS then shot many of their prisoners to lessen the number of prisonersand prevent escapes, leaving only eight boys aged 14-16. As for the young German boys who were about the age of my elder son, at gunpoint, they ordered them to bury the bodies of the victims in the woods. One of those German boys was my MIL's cousin. He was fourteen then, and bears the burden of those shootings on his soul, because he believes his failure to join the ranks of the guards resulted in the deaths of innocents.
Then, the SS left, the eight remaining prisoners with them.
Yet, waiting for them outside of town, as they cleared the cleared the last buildings and marched into the countryside, was an advance unit of the American Army.
"We hadn't heard anything. Nobody knew where they came from; they just popped out of the fields like mushrooms," said my MIL. A firefight ensued and in the confusion, the remaining Jewish boys fled for the town seeking refuge.
One of these was named Bernat Nasch, from Czechoslovakia. He'd just seen his parents gunned down and dashed back in order to look for them. There he met Theresa Werner, the EMBLOS' great aunt and wartime matriarch of the clan. She found him and brought him in to the aforementioned gasthaus. She and the rest of her family fed him and clothed him. Bernat stayed with them some six months until October 1945, when he finally left for a permanent refugee camp, from whence he emigrated in Israel and ultimately to Belgium.
Antwerp.
Mr. Nasch, In A Photo Taken By American Authorities Prior To Transfer To A Refugee Camp.
__________
After almost sixty-five years, Mr. Nasch discovered the identity of the little girl who shared the house with "all the women and one French POW."
My mother-in-law.
He'd written a letter relating how he'd been helped and asking to meet with her. He'd sent photos of himself and Theresa and the aunts and the French POW.
And one of the MIL as a shy little girl.
And so, later this month, she will go back to Stamsried to meet Mr. Nasch and others from that time who are coming to remember.
As we should remember.
R. Sherman
Postscript: We are told that Mr. Nasch has published a book in Belgium, written in Flemish, which details his warm memories of his time with EMBLOS' family. I hope to find it and acquire it. One of the reasons I was hesitant to write about this initially, is that I tend to take stories of German defiance with a grain of salt. If every German of a certain age, who said s/he fought the Nazis, had actually fought the Nazis, there wouldn't have been any Nazis. However, the kindness of the people of Stamsried to these eight boys has been documented and vouchsafed for by several sources so I'm relatively confident that I'm not sugarcoating it.
I met Theresa and her husband in the late 1980's along with several other of the sisters. They all lived to ripe old ages. None of them ever spoke of that day or that time. As stated, I think my MIL suppressed the memory because it was so horrific. As for the elder women, it was a simple matter of acknowledging a common humanity and acting accordingly.
Finally, the Official Daughter of these pages will be in Germany at this time and the organizer of the trip has asked for some English speakers to be present, as several of the families involved are coming from the United States. Frankly, I cannot think of a better thing for my Daughter to do, especially under the circumstances. It will be something she will never forget. -- RDS
Labels: Antisemitism, Family, Germany, History
posted by R. Sherman at 2:59 AM
15 Comments:
What a very touching pust this is Randall. And I hope that someone will film this "reunion" because these story's beed to be remembered and documented just as The Holacaust itself needs to be remembered. When I read something like this---it makes me think of what Anne Frank said in her Diary..."Inspite of everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart.."...Well, mot all people--those SS men were still evil at heart---to the very end....But your MIL's Family was certainly living proof that what Anne Frank believed applied to some people, and I bet there are many other stories similar to this of good people following their good heartfelt instincts. I look forward to reading about this very amazing reunion, my dear.
And what a great experience rhis will be for your dear daughter!
What a wonderful way to begin my morning by reading this story. Thanks for sharing it.
Excellently written Randy. Imagine what a Third World War would be like. I hope God is looking into this.
What an incredible story. I am at a loss for words.
I'm blown away. Awesome to read this. Proof, yet again, that we never know whose lives we touch each day. Thanks for sharing this.
Thanks for the comments, all. I'm hopeful that the OD will take a few pictures and get to know the participants. I wish I could be with her.
Cheers.
Am I correct, your wife is Lutheran. Bavaria, well, isn't. Nor is it noted for openness on this subject.
Vince, she was reared Catholic. I'm a Baptist. We send our kids to Lutheran schools. Very ecumenical.
Cheers.
When I was in second grade, my Dad yanked my siblings and I out of school in early spring and we headed off to Europe for the first time. In the midst of fairy tale castles, mystical forests, and other wonderful vistas, he explained to me about the Nazi's and about the death camps. I have been struggling with that story ever since. How could the people who created such wonderful things, the people who seemed so nice and wonderful, be responsible for such horrible acts?
Your story has helped redeem the Bavarian countryside for me, and that is a fairly profound thing.
I said it before, and I will say it again. That pole-vaulter of yours is just Fighting-Irish.
Do you see yourself and herself under the gold dome.
You made me tear up.
Thank you for sharing such a wonderful story. What a kind thing to do during such trying times, and to think Mr. Nasch sought out to reconnect with your mother-in-law's family after so many years. Touching. I shall have to go back and read the earlier post you referred to.
Randall, Beautiful. I'm mostly speechless at the power of your words and of the emotional impact they and this episode imparts.
Why did I wait three days to read it?
Regards,
Terry Thornton
Fulton, Mississippi
Beautiful. Worth waiting an entire week to read- thanks for sharing. I hope at some point you might consider sharing the story with the greater public via a national periodical, etc.
That is a wonderful story affirming belief in man's innate goodness - as Naomi says.
From another little girl, at the beginning of the war, please give your MIL my sincere best wishes and I hope she has a happy time with her grand-daughter.
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