Quick visit at home
Event ID: 311
Categories:
21 August 1915
Source ID: 10
“Manfred has been assigned to a giant aeroplane to Ostend. He’s really looking forward to it. The small flying fortress is supposed to be able to carry a huge amount of bombs. The crew consists of five to six men: two pilots, mechanics, a machine gunner and an observer. Manfred hopes to be deployed against England. On the 21st, just after my husband had arrived unexpectedly for a visit from Gnadenfrei, Manfred announced his arrival by telegraph. We picked him up from the railway at midnight; he was accompanied by his friend, the loyal Menzke, whom he had already had in his squadron in peacetime. Manfred was in great form, he was beaming and recounted experiences from the front, each more interesting than the last. We listened breathlessly, enthralled by the free, unfettered flying life in the East, patrolling the skies over many hundreds of kilometres, roaring over forests and wildernesses that had perhaps never heard the roar of an engine overhead. Manfred met marvellous people in the east near Rawa Ruska and made good friends. He learnt a lot from a Lieutenant Zeumer at the beginning, the two – teacher and student – became one heart and one soul, many times they flew endless routes, at night they camped out under blankets, but most often from their interesting flying tasks. In Ostend, Manfred will see his friend Zeumer again, Manfred tells us… It’s getting late, Menzke has made friends in the kitchen, you can hear his deliberate voice, which fits so well with his angular, loyal appearance, from the clatter of plates and glasses. I’m sure he also has grateful listeners. Manfred, the daring and popular man who had gained fame on all the racecourses before he set his heart on flying, tells us about Holk. Fate had brought the two together in the godforsaken East. One day the sinewy equestrian figure of Count Holk had appeared in Rawa Ruska, he had walked 50 kilometres from the last railway station, but it was as if he had just been out for a walk, he laughed and made witty remarks – the wiry sportsman didn’t mind such feats of strength, he really needed them. In this respect, too, he was a perfect match for Manfred, they flew together a lot (the former as ‘Franz’, the latter as ‘Emil’) and often got a bit colourful, it seems to me. Their equestrian blood simply ran wild. There were some dramatic moments. For all my amusement, I felt a little like the ‘Rider over Lake Constance’ when Manfred so lightly recounted how, while flying over a burning village with an unpronounceable name, they got caught in a huge column of smoke and suddenly – probably due to the reduced load-bearing capacity of the air – plunged downwards like a stone until Holk, who had been sitting at the controls with an iron and impassive face, managed to intercept the machine a few hundred metres above the ground and above the furiously firing Russian battalions. It was a narrow emergency landing, fortunately in a German position that had been reported as occupied by the enemy the day before. The wings were nicely punctured by hits, and the engine had also taken a beating. Half the night was spent talking and asking questions; we didn’t get much sleep this time. All kinds of images that Manfred’s story had conjured up went through my dreams. But I had now learnt to understand how flying can take hold of a young, daring person like Manfred and never let go. Manfred left far too quickly. He was in a hurry to get to his big fighter plane. Life here at home goes on as usual.”
Comments (0)