A Life Outside My Father's Shadow: A Memoir Spanning Two Generations in Germany

By Fritz E. Schwalm

In 1936, the year Fritz Schwalm was born, Adolph Hitler had high approval ratings. Fritz’s parents supported the national socialist state, and his father was an SS officer employed in the Race and Settlement Office (Rasse and Siedlungs Hauptamt, RuSHA). The office became the focus of a military tribunal of the Nuremberg trials, and his father was sentenced to ten years in prison. Decades later, after his father’s death, Fritz discovered his diaries, penned during the first four years in captivity that included the trial.
In a fascinating memoir, Fritz begins by sharing his father’s journals that detail his thoughts about Germany’s successes and failures under the Hitler regime, beginning with his internment in a camp near Hamburg, Neuengamme. In the following section, Fritz chronicles his own life growing up under the Nazi regime. After revealing how the defeat of Germany in 1945 and its consequences confronted him with traditional political and social norms, he leads others through the events of his subsequent life, rich in adventures and free choices, stark contrasts of what his life would have been in a society governed by rigid social norms and ideological biases.
A Life Outside My Father’s Shadow shares the contrasting perspectives and views of a German SS officer father and his son as the events of a brutal war transformed the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Jun 17, 2024
• ISBN: 9781665756990

Fritz E. Schwalm

Fritz E. Schwalm was born in 1936 in a small town in central Germany. He earned a PhD in biology at the Philipps University in Marburg, and his family moved to the United States in 1968. Dr. Schwalm retired from a college career in 2001.

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Copyright © 2024 Fritz E. Schwalm.

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This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

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ISBN: 978-1-6657-5698-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-5700-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-5699-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2024903458

Archway Publishing rev. date: 06/12/2024

Contents

Foreword

Preface

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Transition to My Memoir

THE DIARY

Life in the British internment camp Neuengamme

Third Fragment of the Diary

War Criminal Prison Landsberg, Bavaria

War and Postwar Years of Our Family and Formative Experiences of My Life

About the Author

To the memory of my wife, Renate.

We could fulfill most of our dreams only through her

steadfast support and the many sacrifices she endured

during the years of our joint adventures. Her early

death after fifty-one years of marriage underscores

the value of a true and trusted partnership.

Foreword

There are two kinds of historians. The first analyses the past through studying data and facts. For instance, the names of famous individuals who made history, the movements of groups of people that set the path humanity would follow, the dates which were important and the incidents that changed the world as we know it. There is another kind of historian, however: those that collect and recite the stories of men and women who lived and died and had an effect on the flow of human existence.

As a young man I preferred the former. How many men were on each side of the battle of Yorktown? What was the most important decision made by George Meade on July 2, 1863? On what date did the Tennessee Vally Authority come into existence, and what was its effect on agricultural development around the world compared with its displacement of approximately 125,000 Tennesseans? I agree that those numbers and dates and broad movements of society and armies are important, but, as I grow older, I understand that data is not the most important thing about history. To truly learn from history and apply those lessons to our present and our lives, we must listen to and study the stories of those men and women who have already lived it.

Today, America and the world are as interested in what took place from 1921 to 1951 in Germany as they ever have been. We are seeing the last of the actual witnesses of that era and that makes us hungry for their knowledge, their experiences, and their wisdom. In addition, certain societal movements in America have a creeping similarity to some of the events that occurred in Munich and Potsdam, in Nuremberg and Berlin, during those years. It I more important now than ever that Americans understand the potential consequences of political rhetoric, political action, and, perhaps most importantly, the lack of political response.

This book, a personal memoir of both Fritz E. Schwalm and his father, Fritz H. Schwalm, is the intertwined stores of two very different men though father and son. A Life Outside My Father’s Shadow carries extremely important lessons for our present world. It helps the reader answer questions that have been pondered since the Nazi Party first took power in Germany and then lost it all in a war that most fact-based historians believe could never have been won. How could an average German become a member of the dreaded Schutzstaffel (the SS) and serve, faithfully, until that war brought that organization to an end? What was it like for this man to live day to day in such a regime, and how did it affect him when it was over, and he was imprisoned for serving his country?

In a connected but dissimilar story, how could this same man’s son grow up completely different? What, exactly, is the connection and the conflict between these two men’s stories? How has the history of the former affected the life of the latter? What lessons did the son learn that allowed him to rise out of the father’s shadow, a shadow twisted by history and by the casual perceptions and understanding that most people have of that history?

A significant part of this book is Schwalm’s rendering of a diary that he found while examining his father’s papers. This journal, written during the prison sentence of the elder Schwalm served after World War II, reveals a great deal about the way that some Germans thought about the life during the war and the consequences of defeat. One small fact that struck me during my reading of the book was that Schwalm wrote often in the diary that the actual victor in WWII was the British Empire, not America, not the Soviets, but Britain His perception is that Britain is destined to fill a leadership role in Eutope. Such leadership would be needed to unify (western) Europe against the threat of Soviet domination. Germany must subordinate itself in this effort after gambling away its chances.

For any student of this period of history the portions of the diary alone ae priceless. We are indebted to Fritz Schwalm for sharing this very personal part of his family’s history.

But be warned, this is not a psychological study of these two men. It is not an attempt to justify or rationalize either of their lives. It is not a tell al sensationalized tale of a brutal truth about the enormously important time the two men lived through and the way that their individual humanities allowed them to survive it.

Stephen D. Sanders

Attorney, Poet, Amateur Historian

May 29, 2023

Preface

Germans born before World War II under Hitler’s regime have undergone dramatic changes in political will and convictions over the last ninety years.

The experiences during my lifetime reflect many of these changes and are presented in my recollections in this book.

I am using two sources to demonstrate these changes.

The first source is my father’s diary from his imprisonment during the early years following Germany’s defeat. It includes details of his indictment in the Nuremberg trials.

Aside from reporting on daily activities and observations, it shows how he viewed Germany’s failure to integrate into a functional European community. He reflected on the need for new leadership that would stave off Russian aggression. He also recognized the danger of following leaders who do not live by their own confessed ethical standards.

He had never mentioned the existence of these records during his lifetime. I discovered them scattered among documents after he had died, in 1985.

During the first ten years of my life, I had been predisposed to integrate into the mainstream society of Germany at the time and would have become a strong supporter of the National Socialist ideas.

The reading of my father’s thoughts in captivity and facts about the nature of his role in the Race and Settlement Main Office confronted me with the prospects of growing up under the systematic indoctrination of a dictatorship. Later in my life I have witnessed the effects of a dominating state-enforced Weltanschauung—total worldview—and how it can seduce young people to follow their politicians blindly. I saw this effect in the so-called German Democratic Republic (East Germany, 1948–89) and in the Russian population during the Ukrainian war.

In describing my life experiences after WW II, I present in my memories (the second part of the narrative in this book) how I have been led to a great deal of skepticism in my worldview. I am grateful for the opportunity to have lived a life with freedom of choices. Hopefully, readers can appreciate the excitement that a life resulting from the opportunities during our generation has given me.

Acknowledgments

The musings and recollections of my past would have remained private if I had not encountered Betty Roberts. Initially she offered to edit chapters of my memories for potential publication. The project broadened when I referred to my father’s diary, recorded during his captivity after World War II. She suggested to link the two manuscripts to document the contrast between two generations in German history.

I owe her and her husband, John, all possible gratitude for continued encouragement and questions for clarification.

My additional gratitude goes to Stephen Sanders. After we had approached him to publish the memoirs through his own company, he generously recommended seeking a broader audience.

Introduction

Confronting the Past: Discovery of My

Father’s Diary from the First Four Years of

His Imprisonment after World War II

My life’s story exemplifies the transition of (most of) the German population from a self-centered nation, dominated by populist biases (focused on national interests, anti-Semitism, and racial superiority) to a world-open, globally oriented country.

I begin my report by presenting the recordings of my father, Fritz H. Schwalm, during the first four years of his imprisonment after World War II. I had been unaware of these records of his experiences. He had not mentioned these recollections while he was alive, and we found them among other documents after the death of my parents.

They were written in German script that had been phased out in our generation, and I was barely able to decipher the text, and there seemed to be three different texts. Later I discovered that they were a continuous record of the time of his surrender to the British forces in June 1945 until October 1948 in the American Criminal War Prison in Landsberg, Bavaria. The first fragment was written on newsprint. He mentioned that he was lucky to have access to any kind of paper for recording his thoughts and observations. The second part was contained in a bound volume, labeled A Wartime Log. This notebook was a gift from the American YMCA, commonly supplied through the Red Cross during the war to American POWs in German captivity. The third part was a set of notes on regular, lined paper.

My father, Fritz H. Schwalm, grew up during World War I in the midsized German town of Marburg/Lahn. In the politically charged years after the war, he became a supporter and member of the National Socialist Workers’ Party (NSDAP). His academic interest in racial characteristics of people landed him at a recruitment office of the Schutz Staffel (SS) in 1934. He was assigned to the national office of the Race and Settlement Central Office, the RuSHA in Berlin. His original assignment was to determine the qualification of volunteers for the SS based on racial characteristics, while he was stationed at the regional SS office in Arolsen, Hesse.

The SS had limited military training facilities. Therefore, he completed his basic training with a regular army infantry regiment in the nearby city of Kassel. He was called to active duty at the beginning of World War II and served in France and later in Russia, where he was injured in a fall from his horse, and he narrowly escaped amputation of his foot.

After the German annexation of the western part of Poland, he was assigned to train other officers in determining which Polish people were eligible to become German citizens. Again, this determination was mostly based on racial characteristics.

Convinced that his activities did not violate the ethical standards of his time, he surrendered to the British occupying forces after the end of WW II. During his internment in a camp near Hamburg, Neuengamme, he began recording observations and thoughts about German success and failure under the Hitler regime. The Allied forces had determined at the Potsdam Conference in 1945 that members of groups that had major functions in the administration of the Third Reich were to be arrested and kept in camps under extrajudicial detention until their culpability could be determined. As such, they were not subject to the rules of the Geneva Convention as prisoners of war. They were considered to be captured enemy forces. One of these camps was the former concentration camp at Neuengamme, listed as Internment Camp #6 in the British sector.

With the establishment of the Nuremberg trials, he volunteered to take the witness stand on behalf of one of the leaders of the RuSHA, Richard Hildebrandt. After his first summons, the court identified him as a ranking member of this office, and he himself was indicted in case #8 of the Military Tribunal of the United States, the RuSHA trial. (In addition to the first, international, Nuremberg trial, the US military had initiated twelve trials of its own military tribunal.)

He returned to the British camp before the trial started and became involved in aspects of the camp administration.

The British were interested in releasing as many of the internees as possible but needed to screen them for responsibilities they held under the previous regime. Fritz’s knowledge of the various levels of responsibilities of the internees, based on their membership in the German army, or SS, police, or various National Socialist organizations, was sought for advice that could lead to release or further processing in the denazification endeavors.

When he eventually was summoned to stand trial with the other members of the RuSHA, he returned to Nuremberg, where in March 1948 he was sentenced to serve a ten-year term.

The sentence was to be served in the War Criminal Prison of Landsberg/Lech, in southern Bavaria. He was pardoned as a result of a sweeping amnesty by American High Commissioner John J. McCloy in February 1951. He had served five years of the sentence.

The diary reports his experiences and thoughts from October 1945 to October 1948.

He admits that many hopes of the German people were dashed by misplaced trust in the German leadership under the Hitler regime. Germany, he sensed, had jeopardized its potential leadership role in Europe. He conceded that Germany would have to support a strong European idea to survive the threats of Russian dominance in Europe.

Some of his ideas have become reality, while others were limited by the biases of the postwar period. After returning to his family in 1951, Fritz H. Schwalm and his wife operated a laundromat in the town in which he had grown up, Marburg, in the West German state of Hesse. (Without any acceptable formal training, he could only find employment in an independent profession.)

While his diary reflects his experiences during internment and imprisonment, it also shows a high degree of naivete about the general conditions of the population of Germany.

He clearly was not aware of the real status of his family and my siblings. I am still amazed about the fortitude of our mother, who had steered the five of us through the years of struggle until she found employment in 1948. (She had joined the NS party early on and was therefore banned from a teaching appointment in home economics before the denazification process cleared her of criminal involvements during the Hitler regime.)

Transition to My Memoir

Following the presentation of my father’s diaries, I give a brief description of the situation of my immediate family during my father’s imprisonment.

Subsequently, I describe the origin of our family and the experiences of my life from the postwar years throughout my career.

001_a_lbj23.jpg

Cover page of the first part of the diary. Translated: This looks just like wastepaper or newsprint from the outside. Read it and keep it safely, it may yet become a valuable document. To my dear wife in October 1947, two years after initiating these writings. F. Schwalm.

THE DIARY

The headings of the sections in the diary are mine. Wherever I was able to find details for abbreviations or thought that explanations would clarify the text, I have inserted my comments in parentheses.

Life in the British

internment camp

Neuengamme

02.jpg.jpg

Neuengamme prison. Concentration camp 1933–45, Internment

camp in the British Zone from 1945 to 1948. (Wikimedia)

N (Neuengamme), Prisoner-of-war camp, October 14, 1945

This is how it has been for many weeks now: After the meal, which is given quite early most of the time, a certain calm comes over the barracks in which we lie with 236 men. The background noise which surrounds us all day from 5:45 to 22:00 o’clock like the constant murmur of a tide recedes behind a quieter time for two hours. This is not an absolute silence; it is interrupted by the whispered questions of my doppelkopp or skat students (two most common German card games) or by the firm steps of those members of the company who believe have the right to step firmly (or the duty to step firmly, since they already belong to a work detail), but in general there is silence and only the regular breathing and snoring of the sleeping comrades, which generates a continuous sound.

In this calm I will briefly look back, report on the present and our prospects so that you, my oldest son Fritz, will sometime learn from it and will see that your father lived with you even when he was far from you and without communication. In addition, you should read from the review where you come from and gain strength from it to master your life.

First, I take another look at my current surroundings. It is a great barrack with three doors, one entrance hall, and one large, single, continuous room. The 236 beds are lined up along the walls next to each other in bunks, three beds high. That does not leave much light to reach the center where the tables are located, but it suffices for reading, writing and to occupy oneself. Fifteen tables are lined up along the middle, somewhat off center to the left so that there is a passage for walking back and forth. At the foot of the beds are some narrow lockers, subdivided into three compartments. Otherwise, the furniture consists of stools and is as complete as it can be, for the time being.

A wooden clock at the end of the barrack shows the time—our stomach does it more reliably, since the clock only has a face and two hands which are adjusted then and again. On the right and the left of it are two timetables, which are important: on the left, time of meals, on the right time for dispensation of coffee. How much else is there to report about our location? How much else about the people and their fates, people who experience the same fate as I do, some with the same calmness and the same unrest and difficulty? The noise and the background sound has its ups and downs like any real tide; it swells to a constant noise of voices, footsteps, moving of stools, and chatter.

That is particularly eminent when the daily ration of 14 g fat, 40 g marinades, 40 g fish paste, and 375 g bread appear at the head of the barrack. (It is significant to include the regular availability of food in the camp, since the general population in Germany, as well as in Britain, suffered from food shortages and was subsisting on haphazard supplies even with rationing cards (e.g., coffee was not available for the German population). The food is distributed through a good system and equitable allocation.

Other high points of noise are every arrival or departure; the announcement of new orders is anything out of the ordinary. Our only duty is to report to the daily head count twice a day. Everything else is activities required by the close living conditions of so many people.

I have only now succeeded in acquiring some paper, for which I am envied by many. I can write down some things which I had intended to do for you, for some time.

(He then gave a detailed description of the origin of his family, about his time growing up in Marburg during the early years of the twentieth century. His father’s educational ambitions had been limited by the bourgeois restrictions of the times when he was forced to follow the trade of his ancestors.)

My father was the oldest son and had to learn the shoemaker’s trade to continue the family tradition. He apprenticed in his father’s shop in a volatile relationship. It seems that he disappeared from the family for some time, only to return after several years.

He must have pursued his intentions to get a broader education, which had previously been prevented by his father’s edict. A continuing education organization existed in Marburg, supported by progressive citizens in cooperation with the university. It was common for people to concern themselves with political topics during the reign of Bismarck and his abdication at the time of Emperor Wilhelm II. Such questions were extremely popular in a city such as Marburg; the professors were not uniformly strict nationalists; on the contrary, the churches had voiced a suspicion that they were encouraging liberalism and free thinking. This way my father must have been introduced to the home of Professor Wechsler via the continuing education association and via the erstwhile Democrats. (The erstwhile Democrats were closer to 1848 than around 1918.)

(There had been a meeting of politicians from many of the various sovereign countries and states in Germany in Paul’s Cathedral in Frankfurt in 1848 with the goal to establish a democracy that would include most of the territories into a united Germany. The actual unification of Germany did not occur until 1871.)

My mother had come to Marburg with Professor Wechsler, a native of Württemberg of non-pure descent. (With this expression he indicates that he is non-Arian—that is, Jewish. He did not say this directly because his notes might be censored, and this characterization would be punished under the circumstances.)

October 21, 1945. A gray, rainy day. Sunday! If an individual would not make this day to be special with great effort, it would run by as sad and empty as any other day in this useless time. And since I have now started to write in this booklet eight days ago, I will gladly summon the creativity to do it every Sunday during the midday period. It is my Sunday book. I begin every Sunday with a nice morning celebration. The first part is a cheerful waking and a little silent conversation with you children and your mother, in a picture near my bed, and you are really close to me. Just last night, when I woke up and the moon was shining through a breach into my face, I thought longingly of all of you.

But then there really is a morning celebration on Sundays, The Golden Chest, after the roll call, which is conducted by team leader Götting and some coworkers. Our camp choir has accompanied the event for the last two weeks. Celebrations are well arranged and coordinated and are of great value for us.

At least they give me much—I know how much Liesel liked to listen to the treasure chest on the radio. (Our mother’s name was Elizabeth, called Liesel. He refers to her alternatively as Mutti.) Our golden chest is such a treasure chest. Today’s celebration was under the motto of a word by Stefan George: Life is only continuing to bloom through mystery. Poems by Goethe, George, Eichendorff, Hölderlin, Rückert, and carefully selected songs accompany the presentations. The gray, somber, barren, and cold ambience recedes, and the images of our homeland’s deep forests, colorful valleys with their enchantment of untouched and nighttime secrets emerge.

It does not matter that there has not been a single potato in the soup for a week and that the 50 g peas are so hard (even after being cooked) that they show up as an accidental residue on the mess kit. The rations this week are normally about 26 g groats, 100 g cabbage, 10 g salt, 10 g flour, 375 g bread in the evening and 11.2 g butter or margarine, 30 g cheese, and 40 g alternating with small portions of fish paste or canned fish. I am not hung up on such things, but I want to mention them for the sake of completeness.

October 23. I had to stop writing abruptly on Sunday since one of the highlights of the day had arrived: warm tea was served in the afternoon. Normally we get coffee—and at this point I can insert a report on our daily routine:

Wakeup call is at 5:45, then we receive ½ pint of coffee; roll call at 7:30 which takes until about 8:15. Then comes the long morning break before the highlight of the day, the noon meal. Well, it is hardly worth writing about it. I pity those the most who talk only about the food all day long; they are the most hungry, always disappointed, and it intensifies their psychosis to the extent that food is indeed not enough.

How simple are things for someone like me; well, there is little to eat, so I will have to spread out the little I get over the day so that it will suffice. Thus, I always have a slice of bread in the morning, one in the afternoon with coffee or tea, and something to spread on it if I still have some. It just requires some degree of restraint and self-control; then it works just fine. I have been able to save ¼ bread as reserve—and that is, luckily, not unique.

There are those who eat everything right away when the cold rations are distributed at 16:00 or 16:30 in the afternoon. Those who eat half after the evening roll call (now at 17:00). Others finish off the rest at 22:00. There are some who eat something in the morning. Then, the noon meal which, with six thousand men, varies quite a bit, for which I always have a slice of bread reserved when the soup is all too thin. Another slice in the evening so that two slices are left for the next day.

The truth is we are never satisfied. It hardly matters if I eat one or two more slices. Between the highlights, the long hours are filled with presentations, training sessions, walks, visits, and evenings, which become longer and longer. We fill them with playing bridge or doppelkopp or skat (two most popular German card games with four or three partners). Currently, we have quite an interesting course on gardening (how to obtain the highest yield in a small garden). Two days a week I attend a course on bookkeeping. The presenter shares the knowledge that he obtained only a year ago in Arolsen!

Those are the five days when something is going on. On Saturdays we clean the quarters (more than usual) and during the hours of 12:00 and 14:00 o’clock I sit in a well-lit place in the room, read, when there is something to read, write something, or prepare a surprise for our dear mother. Only the gods know if I will be able to put it into her hands personally, or if I can mail it to her, in case I have to stay here. (At this time there had been no communication to or from the family—we received the first note of his whereabouts around Christmastime in 1945.)

October 27. Time flies, even with all the emptiness. We have reached another weekend today—twenty weeks have passed since June 1; how many are yet to follow? Oh, this is not the most burning question that concerns us. The news today brought the first announcements about the Nuremberg trials. According to this, we seem to be co-defendants and have been summoned to report as witnesses. Reactions among people here vary widely!

We had cold and wet weather for the last two days——quite stormy. The beginning of the week had been mild, if somewhat windy. In southern Germany we would call the southerly gale Föhn. It is hard to predict what will happen here if it really gets cold and when cold and wet winter weather will set in.

That is another question no one can answer. Our thoughts stray homeward even more so. What is the situation there! This is the saddest situation of all: that we cannot imagine what reality is like—and this will be so for most of us—but my imagination is so unperturbed. We don’t know all you may have to endure and perhaps still will have to tolerate. How I envy the comrades who arrived at a later time! How much do I admire those who have obtained certainty since they have last been home or who got news through those who arrived later than we did.

I washed my clothes today after soaking them for some days. The whole treasure consists of a pair of underpants (the others have found enthusiasts), (by this he implies that someone liked them so much that they stole them), my handkerchief, and my towel. As long as it is in the laundry, I just can’t dry myself. All of this is being boiled in a tin can reserved for this purpose, and it will turn uniformly gray.

I met Sergeant Korbes, who will be released today. In case Trautmann gets out—but he will stay, just as Feldkamp from Arolsen will stay. (He sees a glimmer of hope to convey information about his condition to his family, which lives in Arolsen.)

I am writing today rather than on Sunday since I will visit a neighboring company tomorrow during lunch break to meet Schnacke from Frankenberg-Bottendorf. He is the leader of that company. We want to brew some tea that was given to me by the driver of Josias (his former superior in the Arolsen office). Thus, one runs into acquaintances who share our longings for the beautiful home state of Hesse in this remote place.

November 2. The weather is appropriate for the calendar—overcast, foggy. Two days ago, one could hardly see farther than twenty-five meters, cold yesterday, and today a little less dark. Truly the right mood for All Saints Day. Beyond the fence we can see six or seven trees that have lost their leaves. The poplars are still holding on to them, but we will soon see them without leaves.

It is more and more important to endure mentally, physically, and spiritually. Trusting that futility forever cannot be our fate, I go to sleep, and the first view of your picture (family) in the morning gives me the courage and the hope that I have a goal to live for. My wishes are focused on the hope that we will have a chance for a postcard, at least one, in either direction. Oh, just to know that and how you live, if you have had much to suffer for my sake, or still may have to. These are the questions about the current and future uncertainty.

One needs to set goals for one’s life, even in a situation like this. Mail by Christmas is my first goal. The second is to find out during the next year how long and under what circumstances I will have to do penance. I can’t promise more, after I have survived five months and am still a realist. Too bad that so many mistakes have been made!

November 7. I did not get to write for several days because there had been so much going on. For instance: I can only write between twelve and two o’clock. It’s not only that it is quiet, but also on account of the temperature. After eating the meal as warm as possible, one feels sufficiently warmed to hold the pen. We have been getting fabulous meals for the last eight days: grits, rutabaga, and supposedly up to 70 g of meat! But it tastes OK and satisfies—as far as our starved gang can be satisfied!

It is already getting quite cold, the brick fireplace that we have made ourselves in the middle of the barrack was completed yesterday, and it will be only four to seven days before we can fire it up. When I need to warm up, I go to the central barracks or the neighboring company to visit Karl Schwenke. Today I cannot write much since we hold an entertainment program this afternoon. And naturally one participates.

I have completed a few things for Mother. They are part of a surprise. I hope to be able to send at least part of it pretty soon. Additionally, the shorter days pass faster than the long ones, naturally, since one is bound to the barracks except for the mandated hour outside to catch some fresh air.

I have the comforting feeling that Willi is home. (Willi Reinecke, his brother-in-law, was widowed when his son, Gerhard, was born; Gerhard grew up in our family until his father returned and remarried after the war.) I wonder if this feeling is deceiving me, since I am guessing based on uncertain news. (Willi had served in the regular army and his prospects of being released were pretty good.) More and more people from Lower Saxony and from Hesse are arriving, including from the region of Kassel. A man from Fritzlar arrived in my company. (These are towns near Arolsen, and he is probably hoping for information about the region.)

November 11. Another Sunday. It has been raining since early morning what the heavens let go. We walked around after the first roll call with wet feet since the shoes are no longer tight. Nevertheless, Sunday with a nice celebration in the morning, which was dedicated to Friedrich Schiller (a celebrated eighteenth century poet), whose birthday was yesterday, November 20, 1759, a motivation to use him and his works for an hour of meditation. This hour lifts me sufficiently out of the miserable circumstances of our current existence and gives me strength and courage not only while we are here but also for the time to come.

November 16. Had a wonderful dream last night. Someone had given me the task to draw a picture of Marburg according to a description in a story, or I had to write a story using a picture of Marburg (the town where he grew up. I am omitting the extensive narrative that follows.)

Well, the world is full of tragic and perhaps only dramatic conflicts. The tragic events that have accumulated through the flooding of the old cultural regions in the east by Russians and through the events since the summer of 1944 have reached an extent that one can only fear the worst. What kind of price will our poor nation have to pay? When will there be an end or even a limit? Our only hope is that England will recognize as soon as possible that only a determined stand in Europe will prevent it from facing the same fate in the near future.

I have been unable to write for more than eight days, caused by the cold weather, which has forced me to spend the quiet time in the middle of the day near the oven.

Today is the day of remembrance of the dead (Totensonntag, November 1). The weather is appropriately cold and gray. How well do I still remember the days when we went to the nicely located cemetery in Marburg to visit the grave sites of our grandparents, or of our father, to take one more wreath of greens or of fall flowers before the first snow of the winter. I wonder if anybody did anything at my father’s and mother’s graves this year. Also, father’s birthday was November 22. He would have been eighty-six years old. Just as well that he did not have to experience all of this and how justified was his deep-seated criticism of the dictatorial part of National Socialism, and how well would we have been served today with a democratic form of government as he had envisioned it.

Well, we cannot change