Travel Day 8: Winding Back on the Rhine

Now we had a face for the enemy: George Forder. Might the image of this encounter be a catharsis for all vets? Enemies toasting? Considering their parallel journeys long ago—the nineteen-year-old German boy and the thirty-four-year-old U.S. husband and father, both answering their country’s call to service, and now this journey forty-eight years later that would bring them together—one almost certainly has to assume divine intervention. At least that’s what I choose to believe. So it was that we had George Forder in mind for the remainder of our trip as someone whose path we were meant to cross.

The Center Nazi Party Rally Grounds is where we headed next, which seems oddly counterproductive in a big way to the high we had just experienced with George. But for the sake of our history hunt, we had this on our list. Dad had visited the site, but most of his stay in Nuremburg was limited to that laundry unit in Furth. Still, we were drawn.

But the names we used when we asked for directions were “Hitler’s Stadium” or “Hitler’s Arena.” Those only got blank shrugs. When someone did direct us to a stadium, it was the new, grand stadium recently built. Finally, it took a passerby with fluent English to understand our question. We weren’t far off the path, but no one had related to the name of Hitler.

When we did step into the vast arena, we immediately understood—worn and run down now, this place, for all practical purposes, had been forgotten. The stigma of its past was apparent in its cold emptiness. Weeds were sprouting on the concrete walkways and the stadium seats. No one stopped us from walking the site; in fact, we apparently were the only ones there that late afternoon. Contrast that with thousands of soldiers marching before the furor in the very spot where we were standing. I could almost hear the strident chop of their goose step. The grand chamber halls were locked, seeming to hold in the grisly history. Oddly, a helicopter was maneuvering over the field.

Years after our visit, we learned from another visitor to the center that in fact it remains in this state of disrepair as a reminder of the crimes and those dark days of World War II. Germany leaves a cold history lesson in stone and concrete.

1992 – I am with Dad at the deserted and neglected Center Nazi Party Rally Grounds. (Author’s Collection)

For us, the sobering reflection now at this late hour in the day sent us hastily back on the road in search of accommodations, drinks, and a comforting meal. Rather than risk getting lost again, we headed out of town and were relieved to land a second night at picturesque Wurzburg. The warm memory of George was back on our minds, and we raised our glasses a second time. Good is always stronger than evil, I reminded myself. That day we became acquainted with both.

Now, to catch up with my journal, for this new day, we were ready to head north to the Aachen area again. First on the agenda though were the sights at Wurzburg, which we missed in our hurry on our way south. Like a theme for the day, at breakfast we were treated to the German/Austrian culture when we eyed a local in his jaunty lederhosen drink a tall stein of beer to accompany his eggs and cold cuts. Differences, we agreed as we stifled our giggles, can be refreshing.

Again, this city of Wurzburg, dating back even to the Bronze Age, deserved a full history lesson. The stark fact that the city was ninety percent destroyed in March 1945 can easily be lost in the amazingly accurate replication of the historical buildings. And the fact that those who rebuilt the city immediately after the end of the war were mostly women brings to mind the astounding industry and wherewithal that surfaces in times of war. The Wurzburg men were either dead or had been taken prisoner. In the U.S., when the men were off at war, it was the women who rose to manufacture the ammo and supplies.

We soaked in all we could for the morning and in keeping with the history lesson chose a longer route back to soak in more. The two hundred-mile stretch between Wurzburg and the Austrian border is the Romantic Road, as it is known—picturesque countryside dotted with medieval villages, Baroque palaces, castles, and vineyards. Beyond every turn in the road is a photo opportunity.

But the road also meanders with Germany’s Rhine River, a significant demarcation in the war as a natural defense for Germany in the Allies’s push eastward. Finally in March of 1945 the Allies were successful in crossing the Rhine at four points and then continuing their assault further into Germany. Dad was part of that effort. Like an espionage thriller, his recollection describes the carefully planned crossing complete with troops moving at night into position, tracer bullets marking the specific river area, and a turned boxcar on the other side for regrouping. This is the Rhine we gazed at now, camera in hand. “Gosh, can hardly believe I did some of that stuff,” Dad thought out loud. Wilt and I couldn’t have agreed more.

After some gift buying at Boppard, we chose a faster route to the Aakon area. Travel experts surely would wag their fingers for this one—hurrying through a destination popular enough to earn the title “Romantic Road.” But the day was wearing on, and the three of us were exhausted. We could not soak in even one more drop of history.

Maastricht, Holland, in that Aakon area is where we found a comfortable older hotel, nicely renovated, and absolutely out of our price range. No matter. A tavern in walking distance served a delicious meal—absolutely out of our price range. It seems that our adventures required celebration.

***

April 20, 1945: “. . . Hitler celebrated his fifty-sixth birthday deep underground in Berlin; he even ventured with a few friends into the gardens of his Reich Chancellery, from which he could hear the boom of the Russian guns. On the same day the American Seventh Army took Nuremberg . . .”

The Pictorial History of the World War II Years, Edward Jablonski (Doubleday, 1977)

Private Albrecht:

COAL SMOKE

When I was coming back from, I suppose Osfeld, we came through Cologne, and we were going to stay there overnight—must have been just a truck with a bunch of guys on, not necessarily all from our Division. We found an old building there to crawl into for the night. It was cold. I don’t think it was freezing, but it probably wasn’t too far from it. Anyway, we found this old building, and we went in. The whole bottom floor of it was full of GIs who were going to lie around in there someplace for the night. They said, “You got to go upstairs.”

Well, the stairway was so wobbly when you walked on it—the building was hit real bad in the first place—it felt like the whole thing was going to cave in, but we went up it anyway—pretty long steps. We got up on the next floor, and then we found a room. Of course, the windows were all knocked out and everything, and the big window had a transom in it. We put some blankets or something over the main windows to block off the cold, and then we went outside and we found an old copper wash boiler and some hard coal. We put that up in the room and found four candle sticks in the building there, and we set the wash boiler on that—I don’t know what the heck we put on the bottom but we built a fire on there. Got nice red hot coals, and the transom was open so the smoke could go out there.

It was warming up a little then, and we were all going to go to sleep all lying on the floor. I told the guys, “If you get cold, don’t somebody go and close up that dang transom”—because the coal wasn’t smoking any more, it was just red hot.

“No, no, we won’t close it.”

I don’t know . . . I woke up and holy smokes, I felt bad, you know, real bad. I wondered, what the heck? The first thing I did, I looked up and somebody had got cold and put the blanket over the transom so we had all that coal gas in there! That’s what it was!

I woke everybody up. Where I was it seemed the draft hit just right so I think I got the biggest share of it. I went down them steps, probably about 5:00 in the morning, just one at a time . . . sitting. I would lower myself, step by step. I felt sicker than Sam Hill. Then I got down to the outside of the steps, and I just sat there. Oh, about 7:00 some guys came by, and I asked them about a place to go or how I could get something for this, but they didn’t know anything.

Finally I started feeling better, getting that good fresh air. Then eventually, why, I was all right. To this day I can’t stand the smell of coal gas, when you are burning coal.

1944 – “Briefing today for the flight tomorrow.” (History of the 120th Infantry Regiment)

***

1944-1945: June Wandrey of the Army Nurse Corps describes her ward: “. . . such young soldiers . . . nineteen yeas old . . . They’re so patient and they never complain. I won’t be able to write . . . often and here are the reasons why:

*Bed 6, penetrating wound of the left flank, penetrating wound face, fractured mandible, penetrating wound left forearm.

*Bed 5, amputation right leg, penetrating wound left leg, lacerating wound of chest, lacerating wound right hand.

*Bed 4, massive penetrating wound of abdomen. Expired.”

The Greatest Generation, Tom Brokaw (Random House, 1998)

Private Albrecht:

WOUNDED AT THE AUTOBAHN

We were gettin’ up right near the autobahn. I think we were probably not over two blocks from the autobahn when some shells came in, and a chunk of shrapnel got me in the shoulder. That took care of me, and I had to go back.

The medic fixed it up and cut the sleeve off of the jacket and shirt, put a sling on it, and then I got back to where they had a weasel—like a Jeep, only it has tracks on it.

Two young fellows who were brand new to combat duty were driving the weasel. I got on it—of course, four were on stretchers, and I was sitting because I didn’t have to lie down.

These guys started out, and I didn’t like the way they were going. I said, “Doggone it, you aren’t going the right way!”

They just looked, you know, like, “Hey, what the Sam Hill’s the matter with you? We know what we’re doing.” They as good as told me that. “We know what we’re doing. Don’t worry about us.”

“Well,” I said, “I’m worried a little bit more than just about you. You’re gettin’ into enemy stuff here!”

“No, no, no, we know the way.”

You could see they were wrong because the road we were on was covered with dust from all these shells, and there wasn’t a track on it. So you knew we weren’t using that. But they went. You couldn’t tell them anything.

Then we came to a corner where they had to turn, and a shell had hit right in the middle of that corner and made a pretty good hole. There was a little clearing right there. When we went in there, the weasel kind of tipped sideways when we made the corner. Then the guy up on the top stretcher fell off and fell down in the road. He didn’t know it because he was out anyway.

So we quick stopped and got out—I jumped out then too. I had one good arm so I could help them get that guy back on the stretcher and get him up there.

We had just got him on the stretcher, and then we started getting shelled from right there in that woods. Some Heinies were in there and started blasting. They knocked the windshield off, and we were down kind of behind the vehicle. I got a chunk that knocked me in the knuckles, not anything bad, just slid by and cut ’em open.

They shot about seven or eight times, and then they had to put in powder bags—that’s something you learn in Basic. Then you have a little hush or time in there between shots. So when I heard that many shells, I said, “Come on, get that guy up and let’s get the heck out of here!”

So we did—we got him up. We got down the road a little bit, and we had a couple more shells blow behind us. They were still shooting at us, but we made it.

I think those young guys learned a heck of a good lesson there because they thought they knew all about it, and boy, they were so wrong—they wouldn’t listen.

Then I went to the hospital and got fixed up there. I don’t know what hospital, somewhere in Belgium, I am sure. The main thing was I couldn’t have something in that arm—holding my rifle for instance—it was my right arm—and just all of a sudden whatever I had there would just drop, I had no feeling. When I got hit in the shoulder, it didn’t dig in much but it cut some muscles or nerves, and every so often that would go limp and whatever I was carrying dropped down to the ground. Then the doctor made a little better sling, and then I didn’t carry with that arm at all. When we were going somewhere, I had the rifle in the other hand.

I don’t remember how long I was in the hospital, but I don’t think over one and a half weeks. Then I was back with the bunch again.

***

May 7, 1945: Headlines in The New York Times—“The war in Europe is ended! Surrender is unconditional; V-E will be proclaimed today . . .

Associated Press correspondent Edward Kennedy “reported a full day ahead of the competition that Germans had surrendered unconditionally at a former schoolhouse in Reims, France. For this, he was publicly rebuked by the AP and fired. British Prime Minister Winston Churchill and President Harry Truman had agreed to suppress news of the capitulation for a day to allow Russian dictator Josef Stalin to stage a second surrender ceremony in Berlin . . . Sixty-seven years later, the AP’s top executive is apologizing for the way the company treated Kennedy.”

Minneapolis Star Tribune, May 4, 2012

Private Albrecht:

OUT OF THE INFANTRY—END OF THE WAR

After getting out of the hospital in Belgium, when I got back on the truck to go back to our outfit, they were up by Magdeburg, forty miles from Berlin. Nobody was doing anything. There was the river there, the Elbe River, and everybody wondered why in the Sam Hill we weren’t going across and going into Berlin. The officers said that we didn’t have enough supplies up that far because while I was in the hospital, the troops just went right lickety split on up there. There wasn’t hardly any resistance. In fact, the Germans would rather we come in than leave the Russians get in there.

So after I got up there, then my records came up and they called me in the building there and said, “Say, with your age and since you’ve been hit twice, that’s enough infantry for you.”

So I got stuck on a truck with another guy and sent back into Belgium. I know we just got, oh, maybe five or ten miles out of Magdeburg, and we were sitting in an open truck—just those slats up there—and all of a sudden a sniper let a couple bullets come and they hit those boards by us, but that’s all. We didn’t see where in the heck he was. Well, when your troops move fast like that, then there are a lot of snipers left back in there that don’t want to give up. Just like the Japs did over on the islands. They’d bypass some, and here they’d still be out there fighting their heads off. So we had a sniper try to pick us off but he didn’t do very good.

So we got back into Belgium, and we weren’t there too long and then the dang war ended. Then I was out of the infantry because they sent me back, that was it—I was out of the Thirtieth Division.

We stayed in an old wool factory there. I don’t remember if it was Viviers, Belgium, or Tongres, but it was a very, very long little city right in a valley. I don’t think it was over two blocks wide any place, mostly just length. They had a streetcar running the whole distance. Well, we celebrated then uptown. We weren’t supposed to go down there, but we did. The Belgians, they were having beer and hard boiled eggs and stuff, and they were celebrating so we got in on it.