ONKEL DIETER UND TANTE GRETEL (Part 1)

A twenty-something year old fellow moved into an up-market rental apartment in Rondebosch, Cape Town, on a hot summer day in January 1995. His furniture arrived from up country, where he had completed his articles to qualify as a lawyer. Moving to a new city was daunting for the young man who had never visited Cape Town, even for a vacation. He had secured employment through the good offices of the firm of attorneys where he had completed his articles. He had not yet reported for his new job, but made use of the few days in early January to move into his flat and settle in.

On a balmy day he unlocked the door to the apartment and received such furniture as a young bachelor had accumulated. The furniture removal truck had transported his belongings as a part load and the men whose task it was to lug it all into the flat rightly expected this to be a quick job easily undertaken. The three flights of stairs were no impediment to the seasoned labourers who hardly broke a sweat with the delivery of his goods.

The workmen were still scurrying between the truck and the flat when two elderly neighbours popped their heads through the front door. The two were Onkel Dieter and Tante Gretel who originally hailed from Germany, but were by this time long term residents of Cape Town and the block of flats the young chap was moving into. Introductions were brief, but most welcome was the generous German hospitality as Tante Gretel brought a tray with home brewed Espresso and a serving of the most delicious Butterkuchen that had been lovingly prepared in her own kitchen. It was a most gracious welcome for the young man that would lead to a friendship. Over the course of the months that followed, the childless couple befriended the young lawyer and became surrogate parents in a city that is renowned for its cliquiness and the reticence of Capetonians in making friends with newcomers.

Onkel Dieter and Tante Gretel were gregarious folk and began to include this upstart lawyer in their wide circle of friends. As he became more and more of a son to the two, they began to open up about their past. They, too, had settled in a new environment and had to rely on the good graces of strangers on multiple occasions in their young days. Theirs was a story of struggle during the War years, escape from the worst excesses of battle scarred enemy soldiers, being trapped in a city under Soviet occupation and eventual flight to freedom in West Germany. Their paths led to Cape Town where they met in a chance encounter, learned of their shared experiences and established a connection that led to marriage. Sadly, no progeny would result from the marriage. Despite that, they made an indelible mark on those whose paths intersected with theirs.

The first inkling of the experiences that formed these delightful personalities began to surface as good “Kaffee” and servings of “Butterkuchen” unlocked conversation. Tante Gretel was not only a prodigious baker, but a cook par excellence. From her kitchen emerged “Würste”, “Sauerkraut”, “Eisbein” and other traditional dishes which were to die for. German hospitality and conversation was, as always, accompanied by copious quantities of good beer and food prepared with love and skill.

The first stories to surface were of their unsettling and unsettled childhood in their native land. Onkel Dieter had been subjected to the initial stages of indoctrination when, aged nine, he had been compelled to join the Hitlerjugend. The War came to an end before he had been exposed to the worst excesses of that ghastly instrument of racial propaganda and hatred. He had not been roped in as a child soldier in Berlin as many Hitlerjugend were – some as young as fourteen. Tante Gretel had been too young for the Bund Deutscher Mädel – mercifully.

Despite their youth at War’s end, they were able to relate childhood experiences that had been deeply imprinted in their psyche. War is Hell! It leaves deep and enduring scars. Though tempered by the passage of time, the memories abide. 

The first half of 1945 was a distressing time for the citizens of Berlin. The Second World War was rapidly drawing to a close and a deservedly ignominious end for the Third Reich. From the West, the United States and British forces were closing in, while the Soviets were advancing apace from the East. The Führer was holed up in his bunker, alternating between bouts of unbridled rage and deep depression. Around him his sycophants, for the most part, fed him what he wanted to hear. 

In Berlin Dieter and Gretel’s respective families watched aghast as their world and their city crumbled around them – pounded by aerial bombing raids and artillery – the Luftwaffe and anti-aircraft flak powerless to stave off the thousands of tons of bombs deposited on the capital city. Dieter’s mother decided to clear off out of Berlin at the beginning of February. She joined the thousands of people fleeing the city, but made a bee-line for Dresden with her ten year old boy and meagre belongings that could be carried. She envisaged this as the first leg of a journey south to the Adriatic from whence she hoped to secure safe passage out of the thick of the fighting. In her mind, the vain hope of saving their own skins was viable. Gretel’s mother decided to tough it out in East Berlin with her little seven year old daughter. Goebbels’ propaganda still managed to persuade some die hard Berliners that by a military miracle the last remnants of the conscripted kids of the Hitlerjugend would thwart the advance of the Soviets. Both Dieter and Gretel’s families were bereft of fathers who had been called to fight on the Eastern Front. Both had been in the failing army of General Friedrich Paulus – one died in battle at Stalingrad, the other joined the 91000 prisoners of war that the Soviets captured. The POW was not among the mere 5000 who survived the atrocious conditions in Stalin’s labour camps and returned to Germany by 1955. Dieter and Gretel had a bitter shared experience of losing their father due to service on the Eastern Front.

[Next week: The Battle of Berlin and the Incendiary bombing of Dresden]

©Paul M Haupt