At Leningrad's Gates

by William Lubbec

  While there was no romantic interest between me and our female trainees, we occasionally kidded around together and played tricks on each other. Having further developed my technical knowledge of electrical equipment by this time, I hatched a rather devious scheme.

  One evening as we were eating supper and listening to music on the radio, I excused myself from the table and left the dining room just before the regularly scheduled news program was to begin. In another room I had rigged up a microphone made from a spare radio and wired it into the speakers of my family’s radio. Cutting off the regular broadcast, I switched on the microphone. Mimicking the normal announcer I intoned, “The government has decided that all young women who have been assigned to work on farms will have to serve another six months.”

  Hearing what they thought was an official broadcast stating government policy, both girls immediately broke into tears. Returning to the dining room, I informed everyone that it had only been a prank, but no one believed it had been me on the radio. When I finally convinced them, my family members thought it was hilarious, but neither of the girls found my deception amusing.

  As they consolidated power, the Nazis took control of existing German social, cultural, and educational groups and established new organizations such as the Hitlerjugend (Hitler Youth). No one was forced to participate in such groups, but the regime created an environment that strongly encouraged people to become involved in some type of Nazi organization, while suggesting unspoken consequences for those who declined. Despite my desire to have nothing to do with the Nazis, I thought it would be unwise to risk completely avoiding any involvement with the Party.

  In mid-1937, some friends of mine suggested that I join the NSKK or Nationalsozialistische Kraftfahrkorps (National Socialist Motor Vehicle Corps). The NSKK was separate from the Hitlerjugend, but operated under the control of the Nazi Party. It seemed to me that if I failed to voluntarily join the NSKK, the Nazis might pressure me to join the Hitlerjugend. Compared to the latter, the NSKK seemed to offer a relatively minimal connection with the Party. Besides feeling it was politically expedient to join, I also liked the idea of working on and riding motorcycles.

  Wearing our NSKK uniforms, between six to fifteen of us would gather for a couple of hours at night every two weeks in various members’ homes in our villages. During the half-year or so that I was part of the club, there were only two occasions when we rode motorcycles, much to my disappointment.

  However, once a month I did get the chance to speak for an hour or so on current issues, something about which most of these farm boys knew little. Using newspapers and the radio for information, I led discussions of national and international politics with other members of our group. Despite being unable to speak freely or to discuss politically sensitive topics, I nonetheless enjoyed the opportunity to develop my leadership skills.

  LEARNING A TRADE: January–August 1938

  Nearing completion of my eight years of schooling in Beetzendorf in the summer of 1937, I was ready to take my life in my hands and determine my own destiny. I had grown up watching my parents labor long hours on our farm but struggle to pay our bills. This experience and my own lack of interest in agricultural work led me to decide that I wanted to pursue a different profession, even though it meant one of my younger siblings would inherit the farm instead of me.

  With a natural ability to take things apart and figure out how they worked, I informed my parents of my decision to leave the farm and pursue a career as an electrical engineer. While my declaration was probably somewhat of a surprise to them, they both supported my desire to pursue a career outside farming. Since they had seven children, they were probably also relieved to have one less mouth to feed.

  Shortly after I told them of my intentions, my father and I traveled the 10 miles to Salzwedel, the largest town in the area, where we met with an educational expert to evaluate my potential as an engineer. Although only an average student in school, the results of my engineering aptitude test were excellent.

  Engineering colleges, however, mandated two years of “hands-on” experience as a prerequisite for all students intending to pursue three years of academic coursework in the Diplom Engineer-Fach program—an engineering degree program with a more practical, rather than theoretical, orientation. Taking a train to the town of Lüneburg close to the village where my father grew up, my father helped me find a large electrician’s shop where I could fulfill my two-year requirement working as a “voluntary”—which meant unpaid—apprentice electrician.

  When I arrived in Lüneburg to start my apprenticeship with the Johann Brockelt Company in January 1938, the head of the shop provided me with some basic instruction and immediately put me to work. Trained to disassemble, repair, and reassemble electrical motors as well as to install electrical wiring, I was soon performing all the basic tasks of the electrician’s trade.

  Arriving at 7:30 in the morning, I worked until 4:30 each afternoon. My schedule included a half-day on Saturdays to make up for the one day a week that I attended electrical engineering classes at a special school in the city. Now pursuing a career of my own choosing, my academic performance greatly improved.

  A major part of my work as an apprentice involved installing electrical wiring in newly constructed military barracks, unaware that I would soon be housed in such structures. One particularly cold winter day, I was up on a ladder installing lights on the ceiling of a large windowless room inside a barracks. To keep warm, I shut the door and lit a coal-filled drum below me on the floor.

  Suddenly, I was struck by a tremendous headache and sensation of dizziness. Barely able to remain conscious, I climbed shakily down the ladder and stumbled out of the building. Only later did I learn that the culprit was carbon monoxide gas generated by the burning coal. It could have easily killed me if I had not managed to get out of the room and obtain fresh air when I did. Whatever such occupational hazards, my work as an apprentice electrician proved both interesting and useful to my career.

  Though enjoying the freedom of being on my own, Lüneburg did not particularly impress me. Located on the Ilmenau River, it was a river port and rail junction with about 40,000 inhabitants. Its infantry regiment, cavalry regiment, two battalions of artillery, and two Luftwaffe squadrons gave it the feeling of a military town.

  Despite the daily five-mile commute into town on my bike, I preferred to be living out in the countryside on my Uncle Heinrich’s farm. Located in the village of Hagen just outside of town, I occupied a room in the same house where my father had grown up.

  Before my arrival, my father had arranged for my food and lodging during my apprenticeship. He would also provide me with pocket money and pay for my weekday lunches at the boarding house of an elderly woman in Lüneburg, while Uncle Heinrich would allow me to live in their large farmhouse as well as share their family suppers and weekend meals free of charge. This agreement served as a sort of compensation for the fact that my father had inherited nothing, whereas my uncle had received the family farm as the firstborn son.

  My only complaint with my new accommodations was an uncomfortable bed that left my back aching in the morning. Examining the mattress, I discovered that one of the spiral springs was coming up through it. Approaching the matter like an engineer, I unscrewed the offending spring, pleased that I had resolved the problem so easily.

  When I informed my uncle of my success in repairing the bed, he went through the roof, “You ruined the mattress!” Arriving home after work the next day, I found the mattress replaced with a sack of straw that would serve as my bed throughout my time in Lüneburg.

  In spite of a quite formal relationship with my Uncle Heinrich and Aunt Dora, my time in Hagen was generally pleasant and quickly brought me closer to people of my own age who lived there. In addition to my cousins Hartwig and Irma, there were two or three girls in residence there who were learning how to run a household under my aunt’s direction. Our group also included Bodo Voss, a distant relative who was learning t
o farm from Uncle Heinrich.

  In the evenings after we had been dismissed from the dinner table by my aunt, the six or seven of us who made up our group enjoyed kidding around together out in the expansive ornamental garden behind the house. On one occasion, I thought that I could brashly slip a light-hearted kiss on the neck of one of these female trainees. Before I knew it, her hand swept through the air, etching all five of her fingers into my cheek. To this day, my cousins still tease me about that slap.

  Our group sometimes went into Lüneburg see a movie, have ice cream, or celebrate a special occasion. Five or six times I went into town with just Hartwig or Bodo to go dancing and meet local girls. Just before I turned 18, Bodo and I made the short train trip up from Lüneburg to the major port city of Hamburg.

  After our arrival, we headed to the Reeperbahn (River Street) in the Red Light District near the harbor. When we ventured through the door of a bar in the neighborhood, my hands were nervously fumbling around in my pockets as I was unsure what to expect.

  Immediately, the establishment’s owner greeted me with a message over the loudspeaker system: “Stop playing with the nozzle of your fire hose!”

  Red-faced with embarrassment, I quickly yanked my hands from my pockets and Bodo and I found a table. Pulling out the money we had hidden in our socks, we ordered a couple of drinks.

  Within a couple of minutes, two “ladies” sat down beside us, blocking us into our booth. Though our female guests were uninvited, we felt obliged to buy them drinks.

  Two farm boys presented easy marks for what were clearly a couple of professional bargirls. Before I knew what was happening, the hand of the one seated next to me had slid down into my pocket. My lack of experience in dealing with such an aggressive woman left me utterly petrified.

  A scheme of escape quickly formed in my mind and I told my new partner that I had to pay a visit to the men’s room. Suspicious of my intentions, she refused to let me leave the table until Bodo’s companion persuaded her that my need was genuine. Though finally permitting me to get up, the woman closely pursued me to the restroom.

  Upon entering my refuge, I immediately locked the door behind me. Crouching down, I peeked out through the keyhole. Like a sentry, the woman remained posted just outside. Five minutes passed before she at last wandered away. Seizing the chance, I made a quick getaway out the door of the bar and crossed the street where I halted to wait for Bodo.

  Ten minutes later he caught up with me. The look on his face was furious. He berated me, “How could you leave me in there with those whores!”

  At other times I went out in Lüneburg separately from the group in Hagen. When returning to the farm late at night alone, I sometimes would find that the front door had been locked. Lacking a key, I would whistle to my cousin Irma upstairs and she would come down to let me inside.

  Coming back late one night in mid-November 1938, my whistle produced no response. Taking an alternative route through the connecting cow barn, I entered the house by way of the attic. Reaching Irma’s room, I knocked on her door to inquire why she had failed to come downstairs. Receiving no answer, I opened the door and found her lying still in her bed.

  When I spoke to her, she made no reply and failed to stir. At that moment, I saw the pistol laying next to her hand and the blood on her pillow. In a state of shock, I woke her older brother Heinrich who was home on leave from the army and told him that there was something gravely wrong with Irma.

  Only a couple of weeks before I found her body, she had casually asked our opinion regarding the best way for someone to commit suicide. Never dreaming that such a beautiful girl might take her own life, I offhandedly suggested a pistol. Though no one ever offered me any explanation for her suicide, I can only speculate that she had been raped or had become pregnant. It is my belief that she simply could not stand the shame and put a pistol in her mouth.

  Her tragic death was something that I never forgot, even with all the deaths and grief that followed in the years to come.

  ROMANCE IN THE LAST MONTHS OF PEACE

  September 1938–August 1939

  In September 1938, I closely followed news of Hitler’s meetings with British Prime Minister Chamberlain and French Premier Daladier in Munich, at which the leaders agreed to the transfer of Czechoslovakia’s German-speaking Sudetenland territory to Germany. I thought that this was a sensible development. Like the Anschluss (political unification) with Austria the previous March, this diplomatic triumph had broad popular backing and bolstered national pride, though the approval was balanced by concern that Hitler might eventually push neighboring countries too far.

  Despite becoming conscious of the possibility that I might be called to military service, the peaceful resolution of the Munich crisis, which amicably corrected a division of our people after Versailles, led me and most Germans to believe that war was less likely.

  On the night of Wednesday, November 9, the Nazis’ uneducated, brown-shirted SA thugs attacked Jewish businesses and assaulted Jewish people in the streets all over Germany. The events of what was called Kristallnacht (Night of Broken Glass) dominated the news, with the state-controlled media justifying the rampage as a popular retribution for alleged “Jewish crimes.”

  On my way into Lüneburg on that Thursday morning, a few SA men and a small crowd were gathered in front of a shop on the central street. The shattered glass of a large display window littering the pavement identified the store as a Jewish business, something of which I had not even been aware until that moment. By that time, the propaganda had helped induce a lack of popular sympathy for the suffering of Jews, but most Germans felt that this type of public violence went too far and experienced a sense of apprehension about what the Nazis might do next.

  Disturbed by this radical escalation, I began to ask myself questions. What caused the Nazis to act so brutally? What was happening to Germany? Though concerned, I was afraid to speak out and hoped that the situation would somehow improve. While the Nazi measures against the Jews did indeed become much less visible to the German public in the years that followed, they grew unimaginably worse in secret.

  Reflecting back on that time, there was widespread dislike of the crude officials and extremist tendencies of the Nazi Party. Most Germans felt uneasy about the future and were not content to be living under a dictatorship that abolished their freedoms. Even many citizens who had previously supported the Nazis probably recognized the regime was growing too radical both in its domestic and foreign policy. But whatever the extent of their opposition, individuals remained fearful of the consequences if they openly expressed their dissent.

  At the same time, many of the Nazi government’s policies had broad support. Germans credited Hitler with bringing a measure of social order and an economic recovery that achieved nearly full employment. Perhaps more importantly, they felt a tremendous sense of patriotic pride in the revocation of the injustices of the Versailles Treaty and the revival of Germany’s national power. It was perhaps these conflicting sentiments that allowed the Nazi regime to maintain its control.

  The atmosphere in Hagen, meanwhile, became more tense and cheerless following Irma’s death. Even though I continued to enjoy the time spent with my cousins and the trainees, my relationship with my uncle and aunt grew more distant. Spending less time in Hagen, I began to make more of an effort to get out and meet girls.

  As the weather was warming up in the spring of 1939, Bodo and I decided to bicycle into town from Hagen to attend the regular Saturday evening dance at a hotel in the center of Lüneburg. As was the custom at such events, males wearing coats and ties collected on one side of the large, chandeliered ballroom, while girls in formal dresses sat on the benches that lined the opposite wall.

  The band was already playing as Bodo and I took our seats. About half an hour later, a beautiful girl across the floor from us caught my eye. Hastening to the other side of the room, I quickly reached the table where she was sitting with a female friend. Bowing my head to her, I re
quested the favor of a dance.

  We danced well together and enjoyed three or four more waltzes and foxtrots before the evening was over. When it ended, she agreed to allow me to escort her the few blocks to her residence, located above the flower shop where she worked. Entering the darkened store, we sat down on a bench. Over the next hour or so, we gradually slid closer to each other and mixed a little kissing into the conversation.

  A year younger than me, Anneliese Berndt was a 5’6” beauty with brown hair and brown eyes. Her looks were matched by a natural grace and an innocent simplicity that was highly alluring. While friendly and outgoing in public, she turned out to be more quiet and serious in an intimate moment. Her reserved nature regarding her private thoughts and her past only made her more enchanting to me. Indeed, it is difficult for me to imagine a girl at that age who could have been more captivating.

  Anneliese had grown up in a middle-class family in the Hamburg suburb of Wandsbek. Her father owned four acres of land on which he operated six or eight large greenhouses growing flowers to sell in local florist shops. Following the divorce of her parents when she was about eight years old, her mother was subsequently hospitalized with a long illness, leaving her unable to care for both her children. Consequently, her younger sister Friedel remained with her mother while Anneliese lived at the flower nursery with her father. As joint owners of the nursery, his two sisters, together with one of their husbands and two daughters, also lived with the Berndts.

  Sadly, these relatives relegated Anneliese to the role of unwanted stepdaughter. While her father was a kind man, his gentle nature made it difficult for him to assert his authority in their home to ensure that she was treated fairly. Despite his affection, she lacked adequate love and support from her mother during a difficult transition in her life. This psychological isolation in her childhood would negatively affect her for the rest of her life.