Last visit to Schweidnitz
Event ID: 258
Categories:
29 January 1918
Source ID: 10
“The sky stretched wide and light, of an azure unfathomable blue, like over Italian sundowns. Ten degrees of warmth – at the end of January! I was all alone at home and went early to the small parade ground opposite our house to wait for Manfred. Around four o’clock we saw the familiar sight: a distant ringing in the clouds, swelling to a roar…the spark of fire from the red aeroplane in the sun…the hovering and light touchdown. We had wanted to bake something to welcome our champion aeroplane – but once again there was no flour. So my old faithful support had lovingly and skilfully conjured up a small cake from pearl barley and covered it thickly with the jelly I had been given. Our soldier was hungry. He ate a large piece of the barley cake. I sat down next to him. ‘How do you like it?’ ‘Splendid!’ Suddenly our eyes met and we laughed in unison, like two high-spirited children. Our minds had caught each other. ‘Now come here, Manfred, tell me about it.’ Well, it had only taken him two hours to get from Berlin, travelling a slow, deep loop via Wahlstatt. The cadets lined up in the courtyard and shouted as loud as their young throats would allow. ‘Bolko must have shouted the loudest; he has such terrible lungs!’ ‘Oh no,’ I had to remark, “I don’t think so; not at all. He might even have had tears in his blue eyes, tears of disappointment. No sooner had the boy’s mouth opened to shout than he certainly choked up and bravely swallowed his tears. Why didn’t he land, the big brother?” Bolko has written a spirited letter. Here it is. I showed it to Manfred and saw his face light up with a half-painful humour. He read half aloud: “Tell Manfred that if he still has a spark of love for his old cadet corps and his brother, then he must end up here. If he doesn’t, then it’s a nasty thing to do. Full stop!” “The dear little chap, now he’s disappointed. Yes, if everything went like this in life…” Now, on the flight back, Manfred wants to drop chocolate over Wahlstatt as a consolation. We then sat down in my husband’s large study; Manfred told me that he was now often sent to the munitions factories – to the striking workers. When he arrived, they would all rush in and he would have to speak to them. He would then explain to them how important their work was right now, and so on. They would then usually go back to their machines. But they might not do so for long. On this point, he was quite gloomy. The Empress also often went to the striking munitions workers and spoke to them. I had the feeling that he didn’t like to talk about these things. I understood that he, a man of duty and discipline, whose whole life was one of self-sacrifice, must have been reluctant to use the government’s tactic of ‘eloquence’. We now looked together at the pictures Manfred had brought back from the front. One very nice photo showed a group of young air force officers – his comrades from his first flying experience in Russia. Manfred was among them. I looked at the picture with all the smiling young people and enjoyed it. ‘What happened to them?’ I pointed to the first one: ‘Favoured.’ I pointed to the second one: ‘Also dead,’ and his voice sounded harsh: ‘Don’t ask any more – they’re all dead.’ All dead – except Manfred… As if he was wiping the thoughts from my forehead: “You don’t need to worry. I have nothing to worry about in the air – not in the air. – We can deal with them, however many there are.” And after a pause: ‘The worst thing that could happen to me would be if I had to land over there.’ He stepped out of the window. His eyes gazed out pensively, as if seeing something in the distance. ‘I’m sure the English would behave very decently towards you.’ It was a long time before he replied. He was still staring out of the window. Then slowly – as if he didn’t want to continue – it came from his lips: ‘I think so too.’ Don’t ask any more questions now, said a voice inside me. When someone stands before you who is so close to death, who looks you in the eye more than once a day – and this someone is your own child – then you are careful and cautious with every word. Should one admonish? – That is pointless; they are doing their best anyway. – Should you tell them your fears or worries? – That would be unbearable for them. – Should one complain? – No, I couldn’t do that, I couldn’t act so small and pathetic. – So we kept quiet, we tried to enjoy the moment, to take pleasure in each other’s presence, we were as happy as we should be with young people who spend a few short days on holiday in their homeland and should look back on them fondly – not weighed down by the thought of having a miserable mother at home. We always enjoyed the visits of our young warriors in this “never spoken” sense. This was also met with the greatest understanding from them; they became open and happy and loved us all the more for it. We travelled to Rankau together for my sister’s birthday. I said to Manfred: “You’ve already beaten your opponent sixty-two times in aerial combat. Such an individual achievement is unprecedented. Your name is already immortalised.” Manfred remained silent, only a small melancholy smile slipped around his mouth. I didn’t know what was going on inside him. He was serious – very serious – and quiet. I thought Manfred had changed a lot. Although he looked better and fresher compared to the autumn holidays, his nature lacked the cheerfulness – the carefree, the high-spirited. He was monosyllabic, aloof, almost inaccessible; his every word seemed to come from an unknown distance. Why this change? The thought tormented me, returning again and again, while the wheels beneath me throbbed monotonously, as if they had their own language. I think he has seen death too often. I too retreated to my corner and fell silent. Listened to the restless throbbing of the wheels. I couldn’t get one word out of my mind, I wanted to shoo it away, scolded myself for my pusillanimity, but it kept coming back. Manfred should go to the dentist, have some small, everyday treatment done. He said half aloud to himself – but I heard it: ‘Actually, there’s no point anymore.’ The word stood there in front of me like a haunting spectre and could not be dispelled. Even the wheels beneath me tapped it on the rails in a sparse, steady beat. I closed my eyes and pretended to rest. But not a movement escaped me. How hard his features had become; only the well-cut mouth, which could smile so amiably, still retained its old charm. But there was something painful around his eyes and temples, something that was difficult to interpret. Was it the foreboding of the artificial – the bad outcome of the war that he feared, which cast its shadow over him? Or was it just an after-effect of the deep head protection he had received in the summer? He had never complained, but it had paralysed all his strength for a while. He looked different; very miserable and irritable when I saw him again. That was over now. – But the serious, the measured, the almost dignified, the inexplicable had taken his place. I hadn’t seen Manfred like this before, I didn’t know him like this. Then we were in Rankau. Of course, people were happy to see their relatives and friends again. Many were in black, in mourning – nobody could be heartily happy any more. Every year such a birthday celebration became more serious. Fate weighed on everyone. The next morning Manfred had to go to Breslau to fly back to Berlin. Ilse asked to be allowed to accompany her brother to the railway station. From the top of the stairs, I waved after the car as it rolled away. ‘Goodbye – goodbye, my boy.’ Ilse brought Manfred to the train. He was already standing at the window when she said: ‘Please, be a little careful, we want to see us again.’ Manfred replied: ‘Can you imagine, Ilse, that I could die a miserable death in the straw?’ – – The train was already travelling. Ilse walked next to him, her eyes still fixed. Another handshake, a brief greeting, a wave – and the train was gone. * The serious mood that Manfred had left behind lingered in our house. Worries, thoughts, despondency – bad spirits that you have to face with selfishness.”
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