To start chronological : Begin with the oldest post at the bottom
Since I put the google translator on the main page I stopped translating all posts.
So, please use google translater to read post after 20.02.2011. Thanks
February, 20, 2011
February, 19, 2011
I don’t need to imagine only what it means to lose the mother or father by an early death. Both of my parents share tragically the same fate with me.
Since I only remember small fragments of memory of a life with my father, I can not describe exactly what it was in my childhood that has made the difference.
My dad was just not there, everything was organized by my mother alone. She was our primary caregiver. Of course, there were many fathers in families. At that time, the single parent was more the exception.
The clearest I can remember was the material effects of the missing father. With four young children and poor training it was difficult for my mother to be employed. And when she was, we children have been on our own very often. Money was always scarce and I still remember tne employees of the Social Office, which looked in closets, whether we really needed a new winter coat.
Two things I remember from the time in Coerde (a social hotspot in Muenster, 1972 - 1977) in particular: The four of us kids had to take over then some of the burden of household work, as our mother went to work. We split the housework in the weekly change. The kitchen week was always the worst of all, because here was most of the work. Compared to that, the apartment hallway was relatively pleasant.
Since our mother was not at home very often, we had to include also the shopping. With the bakery in Coerde (The first branch of Schrunz) my mother had therefore agreed that we could 'by on credit' bread. At the end of the month mother paid then the long list at once. We children found out soon that even a ‘Rum Truffle, macaroon, etc could be put on the list and so many small amounts accumulated in the course of the month. My mother has never managed to stop this.
Larger school trips have been for our mother always a challenge and often not affordable. When my classmates in the 8th or 9th Class made a trip to the Eifel area, I remained in the school with another class.
There are many things from my youth that are worthy to be told. In sum, I think that all these experiences, whether consciously remembered or only present in the background, made me the person I am today.
Today I am a 'separate father', my daughter lives for thirteen years now with her mother. Even after the separation a regular contact with my daughter was important for me. With the decision to separate from their mother, I have taken her a piece of her father. This feeling is the worst wound I've done to myself. But I had no choice. I had to decide what I want and what I do not want any more. No way that I would stand the situation as it was, hold out any longer. I have to deal with the consequences of this decision even today.
Since I put the google translator on the main page I stopped translating all posts.
So, please use google translater to read post after 20.02.2011. Thanks
February, 20, 2011
I'm off ...
By the documents, which my cousins have given me I am now in a position to understand my father's life in many aspects a bit better. His mother has kept many documents. After her death they passed into the hands of my Aunt Ursula. Forty years after his death I have received them.
My father was born in June 1929. He started school in 1937 or 1938, since November 1941, he went to the boys' Urban Middle School in Munster. This school he attended still 1946, when the war already was over and his father had died in captivity. About the death of the father, the family probably knew nothing until 1947 (I must explore this yet).
In December 1946 my father recite at his own request the school and a leaving certificate was issued.
 |
| Leaving Certificate from School 1946 |
Exactly why he left the school could not be clarified. I think it is very likely that my father had to help by taking up a job to support his family.
Just two days after his release from school he started to work. He had obtained a job with the State Office for Statistics, Department of Census as a signer. He worked there until November 1947 and was then released 'in the context of the general staff reductions' with a good reference.
 |
| Reference Department of Census 1947 |
Thereafter he was unemployed for about a year - at least for this time I could not prove any employment. He was reemployed in December 1948 at a bicyle dealer in Munster: Hans Pradel. This name is remarkable, since Hans Pradel is known as a half Jew and to be against the Nazis in Munster. At that time, they still had their own brand of bicycles ‘Florida’.
 |
| Label from headtube 'Florida' by Hans Pradel, in the 1950s |
On 6 May 1949, my father gave up this employment, at his own request as written in the reference, since he had to undergo a "spa treatment". Whether this is true or whether they have a different issue to disguise is unclear.
 |
| Leaving Reference from Hans Pradel |
He then picked up again an employment not before August 1950. This is written in his pension papers of the federal pension scheme. This job then ended in March 1951.
In February 1952, my father disappeared overnight from Muenster. Neither his mother nor his siblings knew where he was, the reasons for his immersion are also not known for sure. There are only rumors that he had fallen into conflict with the law, others say his strict mother had made his life hell and he wanted now, at age 21, to lead his own life.
He appeared on 5 February in Marseille - Aubagne the recruitment office of the Foreign Legion, where he has signed a letter of self comitment. It is known that at that time the French Legion recruiters young men in Germany. Whether it was a recruiter that he followed or he traveled to Marseille on his own is not known.
 |
| Acte D'Engagement at the Legion Etrangere in Marseille |
From Marseille, my father was transferred after a few days for basic training in Algeria / Oran and then shipped in September 1952 after Saigon, Vietnam. Only at Christmas 1952 he sent a greeting to his family in Germany. Until then, they did not know where he was and what he did.
Back from Dorsten
Today (22nd Dec. 2010) I have visited my grand-aunt Gertrud Neumann, born Scheunemann. She was born 80 years ago in Schlennin, Pomerania, and has spent much of her childhood together with my mother. Unlike my mother, she is still very healthy and can recall a lot of things. We spent many hours talking about the time in Pomerania, the flight and expulsion and the new beginning after the war.
 |
| My grant aunt Gertrud Scheunemann, born 1930, photo taken around 1942 in Schlennin |
She has helped me looking through the many photos my mother had from the old country and to identify the person on it. She knew even so many anecdotes and stories to tell, that I had difficulties to write down everything and listen to her at the same time. Luckily, I recorded the conversation and I will evaluate it in the coming days.
Two hundred and fifty!
Today (23rd Dec. 2010) I have registered more people in my family tree. After speaking with my great-aunt Gertrud I wrote to the webmaster of Belgard.org, there are managing the Church books from Pomerania and evaluate them. They're a good source for personal files such as birth, baptism, confirmation, marriage and death before 1875 when the first civil registry offices opened.
With this additional information, I have thus exceeded the limit of 250 people in my family tree.
Here, therefore, a link to a pdf file which lists all people currently contained
February, 19, 2011
Do you believe in Santa Claus?
How can you know something and yet not want to believe it?
Many children believe at a certain age no longer really in the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus. But they are trying like to keep the illusion as long as possible. Great is the disappointment when explained by an older child or an adult, there really is no Santa Claus. Also amazing how quickly you accept it and get over it.
When my father died, I had seen what had happened. Somehow I managed to suppress this truth, and I lived with the official story that we were told, and we told each time anyone asked: "Our father died of a heart attack”. Sad enough - but not the whole truth.
My mother had certainly intended to protect us children. How should we understand why our father killed himself?
I have for ten years, with conviction, told everyone the story of the heart attack. I started to doubt more and more every year. How could he still stand upright after a heart attack? That thing I could remember after all. My brother remembered the knife, which he had to get for our mother from the kitchen.
We didn’t talk in the family about that, our father simply was not there. Mother had enough to do, bringing all children through the years.
With about 15 - 16 years, the doubts were increasing; often I spoke with my brother about it, sometimes with the smaller sisters too. With a fellow student of theology, we talked about it. He was a friend of the family and said to our mother that she had to tell us the truth now.
So we were brought together and they told us the real cause of death. But our mother could not give us a reason for the suicide. She herself had found no reason, no suicide note or any other indications. From her remembering nothing pointed at anything, it was not to be seen what was going on in his head before he did it.
My mother is thinking very often about it, in fact her soul is suffering even today.
Although I knew now officially the suicide of my father I was not able to tell it to anybody for years. Even now in many situations I used the heart-attack story. The shame about the suicide of the father was simply too large, I could tell it only a few people.
When I was in my early thirties, the relationship with the mother of my daughter went into pieces. We went to an office for consulting couples with children in crises. For me, an unusual situation, I could not imagine how the therapist should help us.
During the meetings it was actually less and less about the current problems.The therapist asked us more often for things from our childhood, how we would have seen our parents. He finally called us both to paint a picture of ourselves.
What do you paint in such a picture? Not a simple self portrait for sure. I pictured myself standing in the middle of the picture with open arms, looking towards all the things I like and which were important to me, behind me things from my past that I would literally leave behind me as well. Each topic I expressed in little pictures.
In the next session, I wanted to introduce my picture, of course, mainly the things I felt positive about, looking forward. But the therapist was not detracted by me. He folded the sheet in half and then you could only see what I wanted to leave behind me. He asked specifically about "what is meant by this" and pointed with his finger on a picture. It was about the suicide of my father.
I told what I wanted to express with it and how I had the death of my father in my memory and that we did not know even today day why he had killed himself. I can not remember the exact course of conversation, but he said something like, "It is good that you, in spite of this event, are able to live such a normal life, many people would have been broken." For me, it was initially disconcerting. Why should I break if my father decided to commit suicide?
A few days later, I was driving with the car, when suddenly, like a mighty wave, all the emotions that have been locked away for many years caught up. I had to stop at the roadside and more than an hour and I could not drive on.
For the first time I was able to grieve for my father, we could never say goodbye to him, the whole subject was taboo. Now I also felt anger that he left us behind.
Many children believe at a certain age no longer really in the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus. But they are trying like to keep the illusion as long as possible. Great is the disappointment when explained by an older child or an adult, there really is no Santa Claus. Also amazing how quickly you accept it and get over it.
When my father died, I had seen what had happened. Somehow I managed to suppress this truth, and I lived with the official story that we were told, and we told each time anyone asked: "Our father died of a heart attack”. Sad enough - but not the whole truth.
My mother had certainly intended to protect us children. How should we understand why our father killed himself?
I have for ten years, with conviction, told everyone the story of the heart attack. I started to doubt more and more every year. How could he still stand upright after a heart attack? That thing I could remember after all. My brother remembered the knife, which he had to get for our mother from the kitchen.
We didn’t talk in the family about that, our father simply was not there. Mother had enough to do, bringing all children through the years.
With about 15 - 16 years, the doubts were increasing; often I spoke with my brother about it, sometimes with the smaller sisters too. With a fellow student of theology, we talked about it. He was a friend of the family and said to our mother that she had to tell us the truth now.
So we were brought together and they told us the real cause of death. But our mother could not give us a reason for the suicide. She herself had found no reason, no suicide note or any other indications. From her remembering nothing pointed at anything, it was not to be seen what was going on in his head before he did it.
My mother is thinking very often about it, in fact her soul is suffering even today.
Although I knew now officially the suicide of my father I was not able to tell it to anybody for years. Even now in many situations I used the heart-attack story. The shame about the suicide of the father was simply too large, I could tell it only a few people.
When I was in my early thirties, the relationship with the mother of my daughter went into pieces. We went to an office for consulting couples with children in crises. For me, an unusual situation, I could not imagine how the therapist should help us.
During the meetings it was actually less and less about the current problems.The therapist asked us more often for things from our childhood, how we would have seen our parents. He finally called us both to paint a picture of ourselves.
What do you paint in such a picture? Not a simple self portrait for sure. I pictured myself standing in the middle of the picture with open arms, looking towards all the things I like and which were important to me, behind me things from my past that I would literally leave behind me as well. Each topic I expressed in little pictures.
In the next session, I wanted to introduce my picture, of course, mainly the things I felt positive about, looking forward. But the therapist was not detracted by me. He folded the sheet in half and then you could only see what I wanted to leave behind me. He asked specifically about "what is meant by this" and pointed with his finger on a picture. It was about the suicide of my father.
I told what I wanted to express with it and how I had the death of my father in my memory and that we did not know even today day why he had killed himself. I can not remember the exact course of conversation, but he said something like, "It is good that you, in spite of this event, are able to live such a normal life, many people would have been broken." For me, it was initially disconcerting. Why should I break if my father decided to commit suicide?
A few days later, I was driving with the car, when suddenly, like a mighty wave, all the emotions that have been locked away for many years caught up. I had to stop at the roadside and more than an hour and I could not drive on.
For the first time I was able to grieve for my father, we could never say goodbye to him, the whole subject was taboo. Now I also felt anger that he left us behind.
He had not been with us when we entered the school, when we needed him, his help or his advice, he was not somebody to whom we children looked up when we were small and we could fight with when we are older.
During these days I went through hell, but when I was through, it seemed to me as if I arrived the summit after a long mountain climb: The view and the joy when you breathe the fresh air.
Since that time I can talk openly about the suicide of my father, not with everyone but with much more people than before. And again it has lasted more than ten years until I started thinking about his life and began to investigate. Forty years after his death there might be not much that I can discover. Some things may remain in the dark forever.
This blog is also an attempt to deal with it.
During these days I went through hell, but when I was through, it seemed to me as if I arrived the summit after a long mountain climb: The view and the joy when you breathe the fresh air.
Since that time I can talk openly about the suicide of my father, not with everyone but with much more people than before. And again it has lasted more than ten years until I started thinking about his life and began to investigate. Forty years after his death there might be not much that I can discover. Some things may remain in the dark forever.
This blog is also an attempt to deal with it.
The third father
I don’t need to imagine only what it means to lose the mother or father by an early death. Both of my parents share tragically the same fate with me.
Since I only remember small fragments of memory of a life with my father, I can not describe exactly what it was in my childhood that has made the difference.
My dad was just not there, everything was organized by my mother alone. She was our primary caregiver. Of course, there were many fathers in families. At that time, the single parent was more the exception.
The clearest I can remember was the material effects of the missing father. With four young children and poor training it was difficult for my mother to be employed. And when she was, we children have been on our own very often. Money was always scarce and I still remember tne employees of the Social Office, which looked in closets, whether we really needed a new winter coat.
Two things I remember from the time in Coerde (a social hotspot in Muenster, 1972 - 1977) in particular: The four of us kids had to take over then some of the burden of household work, as our mother went to work. We split the housework in the weekly change. The kitchen week was always the worst of all, because here was most of the work. Compared to that, the apartment hallway was relatively pleasant.
Since our mother was not at home very often, we had to include also the shopping. With the bakery in Coerde (The first branch of Schrunz) my mother had therefore agreed that we could 'by on credit' bread. At the end of the month mother paid then the long list at once. We children found out soon that even a ‘Rum Truffle, macaroon, etc could be put on the list and so many small amounts accumulated in the course of the month. My mother has never managed to stop this.
Larger school trips have been for our mother always a challenge and often not affordable. When my classmates in the 8th or 9th Class made a trip to the Eifel area, I remained in the school with another class.
There are many things from my youth that are worthy to be told. In sum, I think that all these experiences, whether consciously remembered or only present in the background, made me the person I am today.
Today I am a 'separate father', my daughter lives for thirteen years now with her mother. Even after the separation a regular contact with my daughter was important for me. With the decision to separate from their mother, I have taken her a piece of her father. This feeling is the worst wound I've done to myself. But I had no choice. I had to decide what I want and what I do not want any more. No way that I would stand the situation as it was, hold out any longer. I have to deal with the consequences of this decision even today.
Also mothers have fathers
The enormous achievements in my mother Ilse’s live have for long not been aware to me. Even though not everyone would call this an achievement, in the usual standards of our society.Today I know what my mother had to stand and what feelings she might had had a little more.
My mother's family comes from Pomerania, more precisely from Schlennin near Belgard. She was born in May 1932 as the illegitimate child of Martha Eggert and Frederick Machenthum.
 |
| Ilse Eggert, about one year old |
The family of my mother worked on a farm of the old Landlord family ‘von Heydebreck’. Traditional potato was grown in this area. Her father never married her mother. He himself was a kind of day laborer/ farm worker. Later he went to the county Koszalin and founded a family. This will be even more interesting in a different part of the story.
When my mother was two years old, her mother Martha married the farm workers Erich Trettin. His family hast moved some years ago to the manor at Schlennin.
When my mother was two years old, her mother Martha married the farm workers Erich Trettin. His family hast moved some years ago to the manor at Schlennin.
 |
| Traditional wedding in the country land, 1934, my mother is the little girl in the first row, fourth from the right |
With him she had two children: Helga and Willi. A third son died early.
My mother very much grew up with the parents of her mother, her grandmother Bertha will have been mainly cared about her. In old photos you can see how simple life was hose at that time. The life consisted mainly of the work on the farm and work on their parcel of land to get by. My mother went to school in the next major hamlet called ‘New Buckow’.
In 1939, the war began and the lives changed radically. After the initial reports of victory on all fronts, you can see on the old photos, increasingly, men in military uniform. The front needs constant replenishment.
My mother very much grew up with the parents of her mother, her grandmother Bertha will have been mainly cared about her. In old photos you can see how simple life was hose at that time. The life consisted mainly of the work on the farm and work on their parcel of land to get by. My mother went to school in the next major hamlet called ‘New Buckow’.
In 1939, the war began and the lives changed radically. After the initial reports of victory on all fronts, you can see on the old photos, increasingly, men in military uniform. The front needs constant replenishment.
 |
| from right to left: my mother Ilse, her mother Martha, uncle Paul and his wife Frieda, taken 1944 during potato harvesting |
The brothers of my grandmother almost all died in the war. Her stepfather was drafted as a soldier and sent to Norway. Although he survived the war he should never again see his homeland.
In March 1945 the Red Army had come up already to the village Schlennin. The villagers tried to flee to the west, but were overwhelmed in a short time by the Red Army and sent back to their village. At that time my mother was only 12 years old. Her mother died shortly afterwards from pneumonia and a lack of medical care.
From September 1945 the Germans were then expelled. My mother came with her grandparents and two siblings up to Halberstadt, where they remained some time in a refugee camp.
Her stepfather came back from Norway to northern Germany in the near the city Leer in Eastern Friesland. From there he sent for his two biological children who still lived in the refugee camp in Halberstadt. But both, the little brother and sister would not go without their big sister and so she could come along with them. For my mother this must have been another disappointment that her step father just wanted to leave her behind.
In Ostfriesland my mother worked on a farm to survive, and later she went to Wuppertal, because you could do there some kind of training as a nurse. Consider that my mother had to leave school at age 13.
Probably she went in the early 50s then from Wuppertal to Munster. She had learned that her biological father now lived here. He had founded in Koszalin a family of now 5 children. The wife Gertrude took my mother as her own child and she was years later named "Grandma from Stehrweg" even though she was not related to us.
In March 1945 the Red Army had come up already to the village Schlennin. The villagers tried to flee to the west, but were overwhelmed in a short time by the Red Army and sent back to their village. At that time my mother was only 12 years old. Her mother died shortly afterwards from pneumonia and a lack of medical care.
From September 1945 the Germans were then expelled. My mother came with her grandparents and two siblings up to Halberstadt, where they remained some time in a refugee camp.
Her stepfather came back from Norway to northern Germany in the near the city Leer in Eastern Friesland. From there he sent for his two biological children who still lived in the refugee camp in Halberstadt. But both, the little brother and sister would not go without their big sister and so she could come along with them. For my mother this must have been another disappointment that her step father just wanted to leave her behind.
In Ostfriesland my mother worked on a farm to survive, and later she went to Wuppertal, because you could do there some kind of training as a nurse. Consider that my mother had to leave school at age 13.
Probably she went in the early 50s then from Wuppertal to Munster. She had learned that her biological father now lived here. He had founded in Koszalin a family of now 5 children. The wife Gertrude took my mother as her own child and she was years later named "Grandma from Stehrweg" even though she was not related to us.
 |
| Gertrud and Friedrich Mackentum (my Grandfather) |
If you thought that my mother's family has finally rejoined, you’re wrong.
Her father, Frederick Mackenthum scooted in the 50's and left his wife and six children alone, He went to the GDR (East Germany), not out of political conviction but to avoid possible alimonies.
Now my mother was again without a father. But the good relationship with the stepmother lasted for life, and five half-siblings were for us of course our uncles and aunts.
My mother married in 1960 a much older man. The couple divorced after two years and in late 1962 / early 1963 she met my father now. He had just come back from Vietnam.
Especially with my father's mother she had no easy going, it might have been very difficult to her. The two married on 10 March 1964
Her father, Frederick Mackenthum scooted in the 50's and left his wife and six children alone, He went to the GDR (East Germany), not out of political conviction but to avoid possible alimonies.
Now my mother was again without a father. But the good relationship with the stepmother lasted for life, and five half-siblings were for us of course our uncles and aunts.
My mother married in 1960 a much older man. The couple divorced after two years and in late 1962 / early 1963 she met my father now. He had just come back from Vietnam.
Especially with my father's mother she had no easy going, it might have been very difficult to her. The two married on 10 March 1964
 |
| The happy couple with the two witnesses of the marriage in 1964 |
and then two weeks later I was born. That was really close!
After the death of our father it was very difficult for our Mother. Grew up four children is no easy task. I remember many hard times in our childhood. Our mother has always had to look for a job, mostly low-paid, simple jobs. After the death of our father there had been a few attempts of our mother to find a new relationship and partner. They often failed due to the large number of children in the background. When I and my brother reached puberty, my mother meant it was time again to find a father for us, so we will not go ‘off the rails’. This concern she has had her whole life. Unfortunately, the attempt to give a father to us children was not so successful.
We now are all grown up and have our own families. We first gave birth to a total of four grandchildren: two boys and two girls - just as we were then. Meanwhile, my mother has six grandchildren, and if you ask today, is their greatest happiness, that all of us "have become something".
Today my mother lives in a nursing home because she suffers increasingly from dementia. Their memory is still strong in all things relating to their childhood, she can not recall current events anymore.
I will always be grateful to my mother, for their commitment and the love she gave to us kids: She never told us how to live in our lives, but gave us the freedom to our own decisions. Knowing her history, and the few opportunities she had in her life, a real life achievement.
February, 11. 2011
After the death of our father it was very difficult for our Mother. Grew up four children is no easy task. I remember many hard times in our childhood. Our mother has always had to look for a job, mostly low-paid, simple jobs. After the death of our father there had been a few attempts of our mother to find a new relationship and partner. They often failed due to the large number of children in the background. When I and my brother reached puberty, my mother meant it was time again to find a father for us, so we will not go ‘off the rails’. This concern she has had her whole life. Unfortunately, the attempt to give a father to us children was not so successful.
We now are all grown up and have our own families. We first gave birth to a total of four grandchildren: two boys and two girls - just as we were then. Meanwhile, my mother has six grandchildren, and if you ask today, is their greatest happiness, that all of us "have become something".
Today my mother lives in a nursing home because she suffers increasingly from dementia. Their memory is still strong in all things relating to their childhood, she can not recall current events anymore.
I will always be grateful to my mother, for their commitment and the love she gave to us kids: She never told us how to live in our lives, but gave us the freedom to our own decisions. Knowing her history, and the few opportunities she had in her life, a real life achievement.
February, 11. 2011
My father's father
My mother brought up four children alone. My youngest sister was just just a year old when my mother was standing alone with us after my fathers suicide. What I didn't know for a long time was that my father has lost his father also when he was very young. His father, Walter
Redlich, died in 1945, for us only in memory by the inscription on the grave stone. When his father died my father was only 16 years old.
In my research I found that my grandfather was not killed in Russia. Through a search at the German War Graves Commission, I found out that his resting place is known at the French Channel coast not far from Mont St. Michel. He died on 6 August 1945, three months after the end of the war, in French captivity probably as a consequence of the conditions in the camps. On this day the U.S. dropped the first atomic bomb on Hiroshima.
When I visited his grave this year in the military cemetery in Mont-de-Huisne I was on that day as old as he when he died: 46 years, 2 months and 22 days. There are no coincidences in live.
 |
| Mont de Huisne |
 |
| Crypt 12 |
 |
| Grave chamber 131 |
 |
| The Book of Dead |
Walking through the memorial and when you scroll through the Book of the Dead I noticed that very many of the buried were over 40 years old, were probably family men just like my grandpa. They were Hitler's last resort in the West after the Allied landing in Normandy. The youth was often already fallen on the battlefields in the east. To learn more about my grandfather I have written a letter to the WAST or "German authority for the notification of dependants of fallen soldiers of the former German Wehrmacht". At the WAST in Berlin all the old documents are kept. After nearly a year of waiting I got an answer, two A4 pages of my grandfather's military resume.
* Dog tag -6684 - St.Kp. F.E.B. 39 (reserve battalion headquarters company Fusilier 39) in Goch
* Recruited probably late 1943 (my father was 14 years old)
* From 1944 in the Backup Battalion 315, it was used in Radom (PL), the German armaments industry operating there include a labor camp with Polish prisoners. It may be that my grandpa was used for "protection" of the camp.
* In January 1945 the unit was destroyed during the invasion of the Red Army, the surviving soldiers fled to Kutno in the northwest and were probably used subsequently at the West Front. There he must have been in captivity. The circumstances are still not known to me.
* The conditions in the camps were far from good, it would also be possible that he was first in American captivity in the notorious camp on the banks of the Rhine. The Americans later, passed the stock to the French. Since the French had almost nothing to eat themselves, you can imagine how much or little for the hated German remained.
* According to WAST my grandfather died in the hospital for prisoners of war in Rennes as a result of 'natural causes'.
* The announcement of his death reached Münster, his hometown, in April 1947 - for four years the family did probably not know what happended to him and whether he was alive or not.
In the search for information about my grandfather, I found the web page of the French camp in and around Rennes at the end of the war. In the long lists that volunteers from France typed, are also the data of my father. After I contacted the webmaster even a photo of my grandfather has been added. The association in France seeks to work on the history of the camps. Here is the link to the page (some in German and English- but much written in French)
February, 10, 2011
So, my father has been in Vietnam. But why was he away from Germany and what did he want just in Vietnam? A second photo led me and my siblings on another track:
On the back of the photograph was the following written: "For my dear mother as an eternal memory of your son Wolfgang - Nam Dinh 1st December 1953 - Tonkin - Indo-China." It was striking to us that our father seemed to wear a uniform, as a German in Vietnam ? Something unusual we thought.Our mother said that father had been for some time in the Foreign Legion before he had his own business and he had been away from Germany because he had 'legal' problems. At that time we were already 'half adults', teenagers to be exact. Where Nam Dinh is and what he has done in Vietnam I have experienced only in the year 2009. In 2008 I married and our honeymoon went to Vietnam. Actually, we wanted to go to China, but because of the Olympics that was too expensive, so Vietnam.
The closer the departure date came, so more confident was I that there was somthing with Vietnam. Long repressed and ignored memories were awakened. After returning from a great trip (with the most wonderful woman in the world *smile) I am ready to put up more experience. First, I asked my brother to send me the old photos as scans. He has kept them all these years and probably from time to time tried to learn more about our father. Unfortunately, so far with little success. The Internet should now give the thing all new possibilities. First, I found a German forum of former mercenaries . In the French Foreign Legion in fact, many German men have always served. In this forum I have learned a lot about the first uniform of my father.
In this photo he is seen with an unknown friend. The former German Foreign Legionaries told me about it:
* Both bear the TOE (Croix de Guerre des Theatres d'Operations exterior)
* My father carries the badge for wounded soldiers
* Something that was interesting: They do not carry the usual fourrager and no regimental badges
* The good news: They were no 'blue bags' (= novices) anymore, since they already carry badges.
It's amazing how many people today are still looking for relatives or have questions about their fathers, grandfathers, uncles, etc. from this period (1950 - 1960) they use this forum and ask for help. But at the end I found no one in this forum who knew my father personally, but they gave me the tip to write directly to the Foreign Legion in France and ask for information.
I tell you about that the next time.
You can not imagine how long it can take until you can compile all these little things and half-true information and compose a new image.
One of the first irritation for me as a kid was that our father had a different family before us .
We found photos in the boxes of cabinet in the living room, pictures that showed clearly our father with another woman and a little girl.
When we asked her, our mother told us, our father had for some time been in Vietnam, which at that time was nemed as Indochine, where he had worked as a representative for tires and had a family. However, this family had been murdered by the Viet Cong as he once was on a business trip and that is why he decided to return to Germany.
Clearly, from Vietnam we had heard as a child. The war was in the 70 years are still in transition and we knew so well that many people died there.
This was the first time that I was a little pensive. But somehow, as a child, I have forgotten the issue soon . You don't think every day about your father's story when you are a young boy.
February, 8, 2011
Where in the world is Nam Dinh?
So, my father has been in Vietnam. But why was he away from Germany and what did he want just in Vietnam? A second photo led me and my siblings on another track:
On the back of the photograph was the following written: "For my dear mother as an eternal memory of your son Wolfgang - Nam Dinh 1st December 1953 - Tonkin - Indo-China." It was striking to us that our father seemed to wear a uniform, as a German in Vietnam ? Something unusual we thought.Our mother said that father had been for some time in the Foreign Legion before he had his own business and he had been away from Germany because he had 'legal' problems. At that time we were already 'half adults', teenagers to be exact. Where Nam Dinh is and what he has done in Vietnam I have experienced only in the year 2009. In 2008 I married and our honeymoon went to Vietnam. Actually, we wanted to go to China, but because of the Olympics that was too expensive, so Vietnam.
The closer the departure date came, so more confident was I that there was somthing with Vietnam. Long repressed and ignored memories were awakened. After returning from a great trip (with the most wonderful woman in the world *smile) I am ready to put up more experience. First, I asked my brother to send me the old photos as scans. He has kept them all these years and probably from time to time tried to learn more about our father. Unfortunately, so far with little success. The Internet should now give the thing all new possibilities. First, I found a German forum of former mercenaries . In the French Foreign Legion in fact, many German men have always served. In this forum I have learned a lot about the first uniform of my father.
In this photo he is seen with an unknown friend. The former German Foreign Legionaries told me about it:
* Both bear the TOE (Croix de Guerre des Theatres d'Operations exterior)
* My father carries the badge for wounded soldiers
* Something that was interesting: They do not carry the usual fourrager and no regimental badges
* The good news: They were no 'blue bags' (= novices) anymore, since they already carry badges.
It's amazing how many people today are still looking for relatives or have questions about their fathers, grandfathers, uncles, etc. from this period (1950 - 1960) they use this forum and ask for help. But at the end I found no one in this forum who knew my father personally, but they gave me the tip to write directly to the Foreign Legion in France and ask for information.
I tell you about that the next time.
The other family
After the death of our father we kids found out gradually amazing things in his life.You can not imagine how long it can take until you can compile all these little things and half-true information and compose a new image.
One of the first irritation for me as a kid was that our father had a different family before us .
We found photos in the boxes of cabinet in the living room, pictures that showed clearly our father with another woman and a little girl.
 |
| Christmas 1960 - Nhatrang - South Vietnam |
When we asked her, our mother told us, our father had for some time been in Vietnam, which at that time was nemed as Indochine, where he had worked as a representative for tires and had a family. However, this family had been murdered by the Viet Cong as he once was on a business trip and that is why he decided to return to Germany.
Clearly, from Vietnam we had heard as a child. The war was in the 70 years are still in transition and we knew so well that many people died there.
This was the first time that I was a little pensive. But somehow, as a child, I have forgotten the issue soon . You don't think every day about your father's story when you are a young boy.
February, 8, 2011
Ma, Ma, look at Daddy!
For me, this Sunday 41 years ago was a long time out of my mind. But I remembered so many things exactly.
I was 5 years old and played this morning with my brother, one year younger than me, in the living room. We lived on the ground floor of a typical old building in Erpho district of Münster. The apartment was huge for us children. Although I shared a room with my brother. My two sisters were younger, the youngest was just 1 year old, so probably she had just started to walk.
We were two boys and two girls, and four children were in 1969 still nothing unusual or rare.
It was late October and it is therefore perfectly possible that the weather was more rainy than sunny - in Munster that is quit normal.
My mother was pottering around in the kitchen and cooked the lunch, my father was not at home. At that time theywent, even as a family man, on Sunday for brunch into the pub. That was part of family live.
Sometime around noon we heard the key of my father in the apartment door, he came back from 'Mauritius' - the pub at the Warendorf road.
He probably just came into the living room and the kitchen for a quick "Hello", then he disappeared somehow. We kids went on playing. I cant remember today what exactly we played, perhaps with the small Matchbox-Cars, so we were always using the pattern of the carpet as streets, we hummed like engines or brakes and made a race at the square of the carpet or parked the cars in their garages .
At some point, I remember clearly, I had to 'pee'. So I got up, went out into the hallway to the door where the toilet was, the light was on - I could clearly see it through the skylight above the door. 'Occupied', Rats!, I went back to play again until after some time I once again walked in the hallway: The light was still burning. As my siblings were all gathered in the living room, my mother worked loudly in the kitchen, it could be only my father who was still on the toilet. Once again I moved back without having achieved anything.
The third time was the pressure on the bladder already grown and so it occurred to me: 'Maybe dad just forgot to switch the light off and you can now enter'. So I pushed the handle down, the door was not locked, I slowly opened the door and looked into it.
My father was at the backside of the small bathroom, right next to the dish and seemed to sleep. I could not understand really the situation and shouted 'Dad?' or something. No answer. So I went to my mother in the kitchen (or did I already run?) And said, 'Ma, Ma, look at Daddy! He is in the toilet and sleeps'.
My mother came from the kitchen, looked in disbelief, followed me and when she saw my father, she ran to him while she called my brother to 'run into the kitchen and fetch me a sharp knife '.
Then suspend my memory. It's all gone. For weeks I can not remember any more details. Neither as the ambulance arrived, the doctor who examined my father, the funeral, nothing. Everything dark and empty. The grief and shock were probably so great that my brain turned off by itself.
I was 5 years old and played this morning with my brother, one year younger than me, in the living room. We lived on the ground floor of a typical old building in Erpho district of Münster. The apartment was huge for us children. Although I shared a room with my brother. My two sisters were younger, the youngest was just 1 year old, so probably she had just started to walk.
We were two boys and two girls, and four children were in 1969 still nothing unusual or rare.
It was late October and it is therefore perfectly possible that the weather was more rainy than sunny - in Munster that is quit normal.
My mother was pottering around in the kitchen and cooked the lunch, my father was not at home. At that time theywent, even as a family man, on Sunday for brunch into the pub. That was part of family live.
Sometime around noon we heard the key of my father in the apartment door, he came back from 'Mauritius' - the pub at the Warendorf road.
He probably just came into the living room and the kitchen for a quick "Hello", then he disappeared somehow. We kids went on playing. I cant remember today what exactly we played, perhaps with the small Matchbox-Cars, so we were always using the pattern of the carpet as streets, we hummed like engines or brakes and made a race at the square of the carpet or parked the cars in their garages .
At some point, I remember clearly, I had to 'pee'. So I got up, went out into the hallway to the door where the toilet was, the light was on - I could clearly see it through the skylight above the door. 'Occupied', Rats!, I went back to play again until after some time I once again walked in the hallway: The light was still burning. As my siblings were all gathered in the living room, my mother worked loudly in the kitchen, it could be only my father who was still on the toilet. Once again I moved back without having achieved anything.
The third time was the pressure on the bladder already grown and so it occurred to me: 'Maybe dad just forgot to switch the light off and you can now enter'. So I pushed the handle down, the door was not locked, I slowly opened the door and looked into it.
My father was at the backside of the small bathroom, right next to the dish and seemed to sleep. I could not understand really the situation and shouted 'Dad?' or something. No answer. So I went to my mother in the kitchen (or did I already run?) And said, 'Ma, Ma, look at Daddy! He is in the toilet and sleeps'.
My mother came from the kitchen, looked in disbelief, followed me and when she saw my father, she ran to him while she called my brother to 'run into the kitchen and fetch me a sharp knife '.
Then suspend my memory. It's all gone. For weeks I can not remember any more details. Neither as the ambulance arrived, the doctor who examined my father, the funeral, nothing. Everything dark and empty. The grief and shock were probably so great that my brain turned off by itself.
The name on the tombstone
My father was buried at the cemetery called "Mauritz". There are photos from the day of the funeral with many wreaths on the fresh mound of earth. I do not remember anything. Some time later, the grave stone was erected. There stood, in white letters his name: Wolfgang Redlich, and his life span: 1929 to 1969.
At the bottom of the grave marker, another name has been attached: Walter Redlich, 1899 to 1945, also provided for the year of death with the German Iron Cross.
At the bottom of the grave marker, another name has been attached: Walter Redlich, 1899 to 1945, also provided for the year of death with the German Iron Cross.
When we were children we went often with our mother to the cemetery, maintained the grave , raked down the narrow path and cleaned around the grave stone the bird droppings . Someday I may have begun to wonder: 'Mama, who is this Walter Redlich?'. It was my grandfather and it it was said he remained in the Second World War somewhere in Russia.
Russia! I even knew as a chil the war was lost in Russia, in this terrible battle of Stalingrad. Grandpa died also there somewhere and there was no proper grave for him, his name was only mentioned in memory on the grave stone now.
Before that I had never wondered about that while I had a grandmother, but had no grandpa. Also, there were no grandparents on my mother's side.
At that time it was all incomprehensible to me. Later there was a 'granny Stehrweg' which we called so because they lived in the "Stehrweg", and we also knew that she was not the 'real' mother of our mother, but she had somehow adopted her after the war. Details were not so interesting to us as children.
My Dad's mother dies only three years later, while I was at a summer camp in the Sauerland. When I was back again, the funeral had taken place and she was now in the same grave as my father and her name was also registered on the gravestone.
So now there were only a brother and two sisters of my father. Unfortunately, the contact this part of the family broke completely after the death of my father and granny. My mother always told us she had been blamed for the death of our father and therefore she would not want to have any more contact.
Just as I, my father had three siblings, they were two boys and two girls, just like us.
Only now, forty years later, I've been thinking about, how it must have been for my father when he lost his father at age 16, killed in war. I knew nothing about it - the sisters were now all dead, some of them were buried in the same grave as my father. No one could tell me something. There was no contact with cousins or cousins, my mother was anything but talkative on the subject and when, there were often conflicting information.
A growing internal unrest has led me then to begin investigations. I wanted to know more about my father, his family, but also my mother's family. I started to look for answers and actually there was a lot to learn.
Before that I had never wondered about that while I had a grandmother, but had no grandpa. Also, there were no grandparents on my mother's side.
At that time it was all incomprehensible to me. Later there was a 'granny Stehrweg' which we called so because they lived in the "Stehrweg", and we also knew that she was not the 'real' mother of our mother, but she had somehow adopted her after the war. Details were not so interesting to us as children.
My Dad's mother dies only three years later, while I was at a summer camp in the Sauerland. When I was back again, the funeral had taken place and she was now in the same grave as my father and her name was also registered on the gravestone.
So now there were only a brother and two sisters of my father. Unfortunately, the contact this part of the family broke completely after the death of my father and granny. My mother always told us she had been blamed for the death of our father and therefore she would not want to have any more contact.
Just as I, my father had three siblings, they were two boys and two girls, just like us.
Only now, forty years later, I've been thinking about, how it must have been for my father when he lost his father at age 16, killed in war. I knew nothing about it - the sisters were now all dead, some of them were buried in the same grave as my father. No one could tell me something. There was no contact with cousins or cousins, my mother was anything but talkative on the subject and when, there were often conflicting information.
A growing internal unrest has led me then to begin investigations. I wanted to know more about my father, his family, but also my mother's family. I started to look for answers and actually there was a lot to learn.
February, 07, 2011
"Your father was gay and was cruising behind the station."
It took me more than forty years to write this sentence. These forty years since the death of my father, were in various stages very different for me. In the first 10 years I did not even know the truth about the death of my father. I grew up with a lie about the circumstances of his death. This all happened of course with the best intentions and meant well. They wanted to protect me and my younger siblings from the truth. The death of our father was bad enough. So it was thought at that time. We as his children would be burden even more if we knew how he lost his life.
Since I was only five years old, my three siblings even younger , I can understand this attitude even today. Even if, as so much in life, it was only 'well-intentioned' and therefore not really good for us.
It is ultimately determined by us children and our collective memory about the death of our father that brought the truth to daylight. Sharing our memories of that day, when we added them all together, comparing with the official version, that was told to us for so long, we knew it doesn't fit. We believed them for many years; whenever asked about our father told willingly.
When we children were sure, that these stories about the death of our father were not true , we started asking questions and expected answers. It quickly turned out that apparently all the adults around us knew the truth, not just us kids. Finally, our mother called us together to tell the truth about the death of our father, and suddenly, many things made sense to me and I was able to classify them correctly. Nearly 10 years had passed since his death, and for me it was in the midst of puberty, Although I have not noticed immediately it was also a shock to learn the truth.The focus for me was more the feeling that we kids were right with our assumptions and that we had been lied to by adults.
But even though we now know precisely how he had died on that Sunday in October 1969, about WHY they had told us nothing. My mother insists to this day not knowing the reasons, whether it's true or whether it is always a shelter, I can not say. Meanwhile, my mother is nearly eighty years old with growing dementia. It makes no sense any more, to afflict her with questions.
Somehow I had to start it earlier, the research, the questions, that restlessness should have made me starting at least twenty years earlier. But it was not possible, I just took so long to start my way and to learn more about my father. When I look back in time, my father was mostly in my memory only about his death. Any other memories of him faded in the face of this day, there were too few things that I could still remember really.
- A ride on the excursion steamer on the Dortmund-Ems Canal and the fairytale forest to Ibbenbüren, we guys, my brother Armin and me, in shorts on the deck of the ship in the middle of the sun, our father made us a breakfast. Hard-boiled eggs with brown shell, we peel the eggs and sprinkle salt on it and eat them with joy.
The undiscoverd life of my father
"Your father was gay and was cruising behind the station."
It took me more than forty years to write this sentence. These forty years since the death of my father, were in various stages very different for me. In the first 10 years I did not even know the truth about the death of my father. I grew up with a lie about the circumstances of his death. This all happened of course with the best intentions and meant well. They wanted to protect me and my younger siblings from the truth. The death of our father was bad enough. So it was thought at that time. We as his children would be burden even more if we knew how he lost his life.
Since I was only five years old, my three siblings even younger , I can understand this attitude even today. Even if, as so much in life, it was only 'well-intentioned' and therefore not really good for us.
It is ultimately determined by us children and our collective memory about the death of our father that brought the truth to daylight. Sharing our memories of that day, when we added them all together, comparing with the official version, that was told to us for so long, we knew it doesn't fit. We believed them for many years; whenever asked about our father told willingly.
When we children were sure, that these stories about the death of our father were not true , we started asking questions and expected answers. It quickly turned out that apparently all the adults around us knew the truth, not just us kids. Finally, our mother called us together to tell the truth about the death of our father, and suddenly, many things made sense to me and I was able to classify them correctly. Nearly 10 years had passed since his death, and for me it was in the midst of puberty, Although I have not noticed immediately it was also a shock to learn the truth.The focus for me was more the feeling that we kids were right with our assumptions and that we had been lied to by adults.
But even though we now know precisely how he had died on that Sunday in October 1969, about WHY they had told us nothing. My mother insists to this day not knowing the reasons, whether it's true or whether it is always a shelter, I can not say. Meanwhile, my mother is nearly eighty years old with growing dementia. It makes no sense any more, to afflict her with questions.
Somehow I had to start it earlier, the research, the questions, that restlessness should have made me starting at least twenty years earlier. But it was not possible, I just took so long to start my way and to learn more about my father. When I look back in time, my father was mostly in my memory only about his death. Any other memories of him faded in the face of this day, there were too few things that I could still remember really.
- A ride on the excursion steamer on the Dortmund-Ems Canal and the fairytale forest to Ibbenbüren, we guys, my brother Armin and me, in shorts on the deck of the ship in the middle of the sun, our father made us a breakfast. Hard-boiled eggs with brown shell, we peel the eggs and sprinkle salt on it and eat them with joy.
- With the father in the public swimming pool in Münster, for the first time in deep water. I anxiously at the edge of the pool always looking for a safe step, my father on the pool deck above, while encouraging me to holding a camera in hand holding this moment in pictures for the ages.
There are brief moments like these that I still remember. I have known my father not for a long time, but enough to know that this sentence, that is up there at the beginning of the blog, is not telling the truth.
I still do not know why it was told us kids again and again, why we even believed it. A few years ago even my brother said resigning, after he tried to bring a little more light into the life of our father, that it might not be possible to find out more and that rumour would have to be agreed on.
I first accepted it, even if I did not want to admit it.
It was the wedding with my wife and our honeymoon in Vietnam, the reestablished contact with my cousin who came forward after nearly 35 years of silence, that triggered a desire in me to finally learn the truth.
To confirm it or refute it finally. Who was my father really, what life he had and why he had taken this decision? What fate has brought him in his life to put an end to itself?
I took the few threads in the past then and started to pursue them to unravel and re-add together.
It quickly became apparent that my father's life was completely different to what I thought, and even more different from what has always told us four siblings.
Many people that I talked about the progress of my research, the discoveries and my motivation, have advised me to write this and tell the story.
So I'm sitting now in front of my laptop and start, with tears in my eyes, to tell the story as it has happened, today I still have no exact knowledge, I tell the story as it makes for me most sense and it could have happened.
As I write these lines, I do not know the end of the story yet, but I do not want to stop to write down the beginning. I want to tell people of my father's life from his childhood until his death. So he will become a real man for me.
The stations of his life are unusual and also so fitting for the time in which he lived.
More soon
There are brief moments like these that I still remember. I have known my father not for a long time, but enough to know that this sentence, that is up there at the beginning of the blog, is not telling the truth.
I still do not know why it was told us kids again and again, why we even believed it. A few years ago even my brother said resigning, after he tried to bring a little more light into the life of our father, that it might not be possible to find out more and that rumour would have to be agreed on.
I first accepted it, even if I did not want to admit it.
It was the wedding with my wife and our honeymoon in Vietnam, the reestablished contact with my cousin who came forward after nearly 35 years of silence, that triggered a desire in me to finally learn the truth.
To confirm it or refute it finally. Who was my father really, what life he had and why he had taken this decision? What fate has brought him in his life to put an end to itself?
I took the few threads in the past then and started to pursue them to unravel and re-add together.
It quickly became apparent that my father's life was completely different to what I thought, and even more different from what has always told us four siblings.
Many people that I talked about the progress of my research, the discoveries and my motivation, have advised me to write this and tell the story.
So I'm sitting now in front of my laptop and start, with tears in my eyes, to tell the story as it has happened, today I still have no exact knowledge, I tell the story as it makes for me most sense and it could have happened.
As I write these lines, I do not know the end of the story yet, but I do not want to stop to write down the beginning. I want to tell people of my father's life from his childhood until his death. So he will become a real man for me.
The stations of his life are unusual and also so fitting for the time in which he lived.
More soon
Keine Kommentare:
Kommentar veröffentlichen