In the Fire of the Eastern Front

by Hendrick C. Verton

  The former soldier got to grips with every type of work that was offered. His willingness came from a close-knit comradeship that he had found during the war. The result was that former high-ranking, and some very senior Generals, became successful directors of many of the foremost firms. Later, as the economy improved, we also profited. Together with a former comrade, we formed our own firm in 1953, which had always been our dream. Shortly before the publishing of this book, our firm celebrated its Golden Jubilee. Our firm grew, based on a risk or two. Optimism and improvisation soon found us employing a couple of dozen men, giving them work and their daily bread. To do that we had to give our all, including many weekends, in the first years. The first vehicle in our car park was a pre-war lorry, an Adler with front-wheel drive, and a trailer. It was usually overloaded and gave us many a puncture, but that was how we visited our customers. In winter, when the motorway was iced, or if on an incline, then two of us sat on the front bumpers as ballast and we could continue on our way. That would not be permitted today, but then, we had to know how we could help ourselves. Physical efforts were the foundation of economic rehabilitation.

  CHAPTER 23

  Comradeship for Life

  Evert and I were still living with false identities, which at some time or another had to be corrected. There was an Amnesty in 1954 which enabled us to do just that. We had to appear before a Court that understood the veiling of our identities. There was no case made against us. However, we were stateless, for Holland refused our rehabilitation. It had to stay that way for some years. Even citizens without nationality or fatherland, can be industrious, for themselves and for others. But I was not allowed in Holland with my business. My German colleagues however had the privilege of taking their business there. Seven years were to come and go, before we were reinstated as Dutch Nationals.

  I can remember with clarity my very first return visit into my Fatherland after 17 years. I was deeply moved. My feelings were mixed as I drove over the border at Aachen, on the way to Maastricht, which was my first stop. My ‘passenger’ was my passport, sitting on the passenger seat, for with the safety of my family uppermost in my mind, I travelled alone on that occasion.

  I must say that I was rather disappointed at being waved through with nonchalance by the border officials on the Dutch side of the border. Had I not been on the wanted list for many years? Now, armed with a new passport, and a bundle of correspondence from the Ministry of Justice, and my ‘rehabilitation’, they were not interested! All the better.

  1961: the author (second from left) finally reunited with his brothers

  In 17 years things had changed. Firstly, everything appeared to be smaller than I could remember. My fellow Dutch were friendly, but loud. ‘Very loud’ was my assessment, as I inquisitively watched the people on the street, like a child. They drifted here and there and were casual, and now had a far more leisurely manner. The Maastricht Agreement was not yet in force, but the coffee beans were very much cheaper than in Germany. In Holland’s oldest city I filled myself with Matjes herrings, that I had not had the pleasure of for many a year.

  On subsequent visits I was able to assess that my homeland was not as it had been. No, it had changed a lot since the war, especially in the large towns. There was nothing left of the Old School mentality, now it was casual and dirty. My wife Brigitte was not impressed with the dirty towns that she saw. In Breslau I had told her with pride that even the exterior of the houses were washed in the annual spring-clean. I told her how orderly and clean my people were, and the streets spick and span. Sadly, not any more, except perhaps in the suburbs where Old School standards still prevailed, just as I remembered them.

  Naturally enough there came a time when. I wanted to see my old comrades. But in Holland there was still a problem. The neighbours could not be told. They were very quickly suspicious and they were not to know about one’s past. In West Germany that was now no problem. There it was already very liberal. Groups of war-veterans were forming, who helped one another when in need. They were also assiduous in the service of searching for missing comrades. That was an urgent priority, for only in the second half of 1948 were former Waffen SS members included by the American Occupation authorities into Social Benefit laws. In other zones it stayed as it had been since 1950. There were no government social benefits or facilities whatsoever, to show gratitude for our sacrifice, or for our service to the Fatherland.

  Later generations were able to recognise the ‘yoke’ under which the front-troops had bent. They bore no grudge, no ill-feelings against the State. How did we find one another? From my own post-war actions of searching for those that I knew, it was very quickly evident that our troops were widely scattered in all corners of Germany, and in places that I had never heard of. That really didn’t need any explanation. Millions had been evacuated from war-torn towns that remained empty for some time. A very happy reunion took place with Georg Haas, the former accountant of the 11th in Breslau. He put an enquiry into the military magazine Der Freiwillige, wanting to know the whereabouts of former comrades. This took place in 1956. The joy was great at seeing one another again after 11 years. He had feared that I had not survived, having been a POW under the Russians.

  Following the war the author remained in contact with his comrades. Above is the beginning of a letter from the former commandant of Breslau during the siege, General (retired) Hermann Niehoff, thanking Hendrik for sending him his war memoirs.

  In two of the books that he wrote, Brände an der Oder, and Gaben die Hoffnung nicht auf, I contributed original photos and sketches. I played a large role in them under the pseudonym Hendrik Velthoven. Both books on the ‘Stalingrad of Silesia’, in which he wrote truthfully and openly about the bitter battles, and the suffering of its citizens, were successful documents of the last months of the war.

  All of us comrades were industrious in the search for former brothers-in-arms. The Waffen SS were first and foremost in the search, as was confirmed time and time again by the Red Cross and other War Welfare services. Eight years after the war there were 3.5 million missing persons. The fate of 750,000 illegally deported civilians, and 300,000 children, still had to be researched. This action reached tremendous proportions that were exclusive to the Waffen SS.

  Regularly, the bands of searchers met together to exchange their findings, such as in Minden in 1956, on 5 and 6 September when 10,000 members were present! Two years later in Hamlin, 16,000 turned up. Between them all, they could solve 600 cases of missing comrades. The director of the German Red Cross at that time, Dr Pasewaldt, could report that the whereabouts of a quarter of the former units, 13,000, had been located, all from the work of the comrades, which was passed on at those reunions.

  The speakers at the reunions were none other than commanders from the Armed Forces, such as General Paul Hausser, and the Generals Felix Steiner and Kurt ‘Panzermeyer’ Meyer, as well as politicians and the mayor of Minden, Dr Mosel. There were absolutely no problems with these meetings at that time. On the contrary, Dr Mosel began his speech of welcome with “My dear comrades of World War II”. He told the many who were assembled, that it was an honour for the city to be able to welcome us war-veterans.

  The former chairman of the FDP party, a pariiamentarian Dr Erich Mende, recipient of the Knight’s Cross, and a former major, declared, “We were totally dependent on our brothers-in-arms for our lives. We did not ask, “are you Catholic?” or “are you Evangelist, Wehrmacht or the Waffen SS?” We were dependent, as a Wehrmacht division, for example, on the Waffen SS holding the Caen-Falaise road.” Support and understanding for our troops, came from various directions. Dr Kurt Schumacher, the chairman of the post-war SPD, the German Labour Party, and also Federal-Chancellor Konrad Adenauer, who referred to the Waffen SS at the CDU Conference, in Hannover in 1949, as “Soldiers like every other”.

  In the following years, as World War II started to belong to the past, and the war generation wandered into old age, they became ‘interested parties
’. It is forgotten how closely-knit the German population were at one time. According to old tradition, one placed a burning candle on the windowsill, to guide the soldier-lad home, and to keep alive the memory of those, still far away, many in foreign POW camps.

  The Waffen SS slowly belonged to the past, and slowly, speeches of regret started to take place, from parties and from the politically prominent. But “out of sight, out of mind!” is not the code that we of the Waffen SS live by. Our code, “Our loyalty is our honour,” may be scoffed at by some, but we still live by it today. It is a duty, the duty of unending work to locate our missing. Then we work to give him or them a worthy grave. There are still 1.4 million Germans missing (1995 statistics). We try to give social help where needed. An example is the organisation Paul Hausser Social Work. Up to 1992 it could boast of collecting 4 million marks for social help.

  Every land honours their dead. Until recently, everywhere except Germany. The American soldiers returning home to the States had the red carpet rolled out for them. We were de-nazified, the Wehrmacht and foreign ‘volunteers’ too. Old soldiers meet and shake hands over the graves, those from the East and those from the West, in Normandy and recently in Russia. A front-line soldier shares the experiences of others, and each brings respect to the other. They are all eyewitnesses who did their duty. This only applies outside Germany.

  Until recently the state did not honour their dead. Only outside Germany did one find a wreath of remembrance on the grave of a German soldier, ‘unknown’ or not. Until recently, our remembrance services were ringed with police and protestors. We are reminded “to remember not to forget”, but can also find upon our arrival, that our memorial service has been cancelled. A comment from a former French President of a veterans’ organisation was, “A land which ignores its own history, which lies about its past, staggers thereafter, without orientation”.

  Post-war meetings with military personages were, for me, a highlight. It was not possible during the war, as there was no time or possibility, since, for those of our rank, such men of high rank were out of reach. Now they were no longer military personages, but were free to voice an opinion and share their experiences with us, their men.

  One such was ‘Papa Hausser’, or to give him his correct title, Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces and highly decorated General, Paul Hausser. His name will go down, not only in German history books, but also those of the Second World War. He really was a father to his soldiers, they were ‘his boys’. He was the one who sometimes contradicted Hitler when necessary. He visited us in Bonn one time, where he showed not only his humour but his humility as well. One of us in speaking to him addressed him with his full military title. He didn’t want that. “But General I cannot call you Paul,” as was suggested. “Well, call me Paulchen then!” which is an endearment, for someone of whom you are very fond. We met again Stuttgart in 1970, two years before he died at the age of 92.

  Dressed in a light coat, similar to the one that he had worn in Russia, the commander of the ‘Wiking’, Felix Steiner visited us in Bonn. Just like Napoleon, he spoke to his men, one after the other. As a friendly gesture he spoke as if he knew exactly when and where in battle he had seen them before.

  Then there was Sepp Dietrich. This old war-horse, this bluff fire-eater belonged to a fraternity all of his own. His strong but casual personality, his laid-back manner, I found just the same in meeting him again. I met Major-General Kurt Meyer, and General Herbert Gilles, who was a sensitive and intelligent man. Despite their former high ranks, both men were humble and approachable. Arrogance was never to be seen.

  It was in 1963 that Brigitte and I were in Madrid, for a week, as guests of the legendary Otto Skorzeny. We journeyed together with a married couple who were the book publishers who had published his book, “Live Dangerously”. A most impressive man, Skorzeny possessed the typical charm of the Viennese. In 1943, he was to become a worldwide legend for freeing the Italian Duce Mussolini, from under the noses of the Italians, without shedding a drop of blood. He had read both books from George Haas and wanted to meet me. Nearly every day, and everywhere we went in Madrid, we could see and feel the respect that the Spaniards had for Otto Skorzeny. He was always referred to as ‘Senor Colonel’, and our drinks were always ‘on the house’.

  In the 1970s, because our daughter Henrike worked for the German airline Lufthansa, we took advantage of her ‘personal percentage’ for flights. We made a trip to the Eastern-bloc, visiting Moscow, Leningrad, and my wife’s birthplace, Breslau.

  Brigitte and Hendrik Verton (right) in Madrid, 1963, as guests of the legendary Otto Skorzeny.

  Our present and future lives lay in Bad Godesberg, where we felt and still feel 100% at home. It was where the decisions were made, and where the politicians argued over the atom bomb, over re-armament and over Eastern agreements. This ‘dwarf seat of parliament, this post-war capital was to be treated to a good dose of sarcasm from an American reporter as, “Half as large and twice as dead as our Central Cemetery in Chicago”.

  In those days Chancellor Adenauer used the small river ferry daily, to go to his office from his house in Rhondorf. He travelled without a government-paid limousine, and also without bodyguards. Both would be unthinkable today. He would doff his hat in respect to his fellow citizens, and to those he knew and met on his way. That is all a thing of the past.

  There is an old Russian saying, “We come to treasure the things of the past”. Perhaps if we live long enough, perhaps if we have the urgent need write about it, and if we find the time and leisure to relive our experiences, we may. Perhaps we will, when the shock and the hope, the suffering and the yearning for happiness, and when, in remembrance, all becomes ‘a lighter shade of pale’.

  Research into the underlying reasons of our personal fates is also very necessary, in order to be able to correct what is falsely claimed today. It is the duty of those living to protect the honour of those comrades who gave their lives.

  Sacrifice was the fate of the ‘volunteers’. The harvest of sowing their anti-communist seeds was defamation, and persecution was the tragedy of their honour. There will always be ‘volunteers’, wherever a future of freedom needs them. In the past they were called fantasists, sentimentalists, pretenders, party-followers and even country-bumpkins and of whom history has disapproved. Idealists should constantly protect themselves against the orthodox.

  We were born into an era which we could not determine, but which paved the way for something enormous. It was an era in which Communism was lifted out of its local setting and wanted to grow and spread throughout Europe. We banded together as its opponents, in wanting to ensure an honourable place for our nation, within the nations and new community of Europe.

  We believed that with our ‘élite organisation’ of not only upright German, but European ‘volunteers’ from the north-westerly lands, following the victory against communism, we could produce a reform, a Perestroika so to speak. With our participation in the Waffen SS we were treated on an equal basis, as every other. Some of us advanced to ranks above German soldiers, such as the battalion commander who was a Dane, or like my brother Evert, a Dutchman, or I too, on a smaller scale, with 12 to 48 German soldiers under my command.

  In Bad Tölz at the Junkerschule, the party programme of the NSDAP was discussed amongst us, and dissected and criticised by the European officers, without any disciplinary action. What we practised, on a small-scale, gave us hope for the future, with not only Germany destined to lead. Was that to be Utopia, only an illusion? Perhaps, but we thought then that it was possible. ‘Lady luck’ didn’t see it like that. She saw to it that, after a lost war, we analysed and learned from this analysis.

  Hendrik Verton and Paul Hausser, Stuttgart, 1970

  A life without a zenith, a youth without reaching the heights or without ideals, was not for us. We lived in a time that needed the utmost effort. Perhaps it was the best that could have happened at that time in our manhood. It was a probation period for u
s that we came through with flying colours. Those of us who feel guilty must bow to that guilt. Today, what we fight against, whether as an individual or as a group, is the refusal of individuality, which is unjust and basically immoral!

  “Everything that is unjust nurtures the seed of destruction.”

  Alexander von Humbolt

  Epilogue

  A saga, that long epic of heroic achievement, in Medieval prose, was narrative of a long, involved account of a series of incidents. But it is not the same as a fairy-tale in prose. I guarantee that nothing of my account is a fairy story. My feelings and views from that period of my past are also honest.

  In my narration I have not tried to glorify, but to present a document that is as correct as an eyewitness from that era can describe. In this present day such a document is a bitter necessity. The past was not always ideal, for us or our opponents. I felt neither wistfulness nor nostalgic longings in writing my book. The facts therein are pure unadulterated facts that are not to be twisted by others for their own false ends. My life was and is worth living.

  With this Epilogue I wish to give my heartfelt thanks to my comrade and former Second World War officer and Oberstleutnant of the Wehrmacht Adolf Kruger, who read my book as a competent editor and corrected it. The same applies to Heid Ruhl, another former wartime officer and later senior teacher, who also assessed and gave a criticism on my book. Further thanks go to my brother-in-law, Dip.Eng. Jan Carl van dem Berge, and to Mrs Birgit Guden who typed my handwritten manuscript.

  Hendrik Verton, Spring 2003

  Federal Republic of Germany

  Federal Chancellor

  Bonn 17.12 1952