“We want to awaken in the German youth free, righteous and noble national pride so that at the thought of Germany’s past, their hearts will pound and their eyes will gleam. That is the first foundation of National Socialist education.”
The Educational Principles of the New Germany, Nazi magazine for women (1936/37)
Treats and lies
Mutter obeyed the order to get me the mandatory Jugend uniform. She bought it when I was at school and laid it on my bed to surprise me. When I put it on and saw my reflection in the mirror I couldn’t help smiling. I turned around several times to see all angles. I looked grand. I loved it!
The day of my first Jugend meeting, I wore my new uniform to school. Most of the other girls in class had them on too. A wonderful feeling struck me. Herr Hitler had invited me to join a special club!
That afternoon ten of us, including Emma and Agatha, walked the mile to the apartment house where we were to meet. Everyone was chattering noisily from excitement.
Agatha, who had been unusually quiet, drew me aside and told me, “I don’t think our parents would have let us come if they thought anything bad would happen, do you?”
“I don’t think my parents wanted me to join. Mutter said we had no choice,” I said. “But, we’ll be together, and if we don’t like it, we’ll just get up and leave.”
"Promise?”
"Promise.”
As we entered the meeting room, three teenage girls in uniform were at the door. “Heil Hitler,” they shouted, saluting together as they stood motionless, waiting for us to respond. We did a feeble "Heil." One showed us where to hang our coats. Fifteen folding chairs had been set in a semicircle around a square table and three chairs in front.
“Please take a seat,” a tall, blue-eyed blond announced, as she smiled and introduced herself as Else. Several seats were already filled by girls we knew from school. They murmured hellos. Otherwise they were quiet, looking around with eyes wide. We joined the group, folded our hands on our laps, and looked around at the room. Huge posters of Hitler dominated the walls, with the largest one placed behind the table we faced. Another table in the corner held several platters piled with cookies and small cakes.
Lunch at school had been small, the walk long. My stomach begged for food. It was hard to keep my eyes off the sweets, but I forced myself to pay attention, responding with, “Here,” when the leader, introducing herself as Greta, read the attendance role. When Agatha’s name was called, she stood up and repeated her name, which I thought at first was unnecessary. But I wished I’d thought to do it. The roll call was followed by the third leader, Hanna, who gave a brief welcoming speech. Then the three leaders each picked up a platter of sweets and offered them to us. Remembering my manners, I took one and said, “Thank you.”
“You may have as many as you like,” Else said, proving it by standing patiently while I chose two more.
As Greta read a list of rules we nibbled our treats and gave each other delighted side glances. The rules seemed easy. Uniforms must be worn. No excuses allowed for tardiness. Illness could be the only reason for missing a meeting.
“Who would want to miss a meeting if we get to eat sweets every time?” Emma whispered to me.
Else then passed out song sheets. We stood as the three leaders led us in a stirring song about Hitler. I didn’t know what the words meant, but when the leaders began passing plates of cookies and cakes again, I didn't care.
As we munched on our treats, Greta gave us the first of many lessons about the Americans and the British. “They are everyone’s enemy. Hitler is everyone’s friend. Americans are dirty and smell bad. Germans are clean. The British are mean to their children. Hitler loves all children. Americans are cruel millionaires. Hitler is kind and generous to the poor.”
She held up a picture of a white man, wearing a broad-brimmed hat and a frightening sneer as he whipped a black man. “Americans are monsters who keep black people as slaves.”
After offering more sweets, she continued. “Hitler is gentle to all people. British are merciless. Hitler has mercy for all. Americans are deceitful. Hitler is honest.”
After about two hours we were offered more cookies.
"May we take some home?” I asked.
“No. You may have all you want, but you must eat them here,” Greta said with a smile. “What is your favorite kind of cookie?” she asked.
“Chocolate," I replied.
On the walk home, Emma wondered if we’d have sweets at all the meetings.
“I don’t know,” I said, “But I’m not going to miss one meeting if it means missing a cake or a cookie.”
At the next meeting a plate of chocolate cookies was waiting for us. I took five, gobbling them down as perfect-posture, chin-up Greta spoke.
“Germany is the finest country in the world. Our way of life is best. I love Hitler because he is gentle and good and wants only the finest for his country.”
I yearned to be like Greta, with her straight nose and rosy lips. I kept her words in my head, repeating them over and over again.
My parents did not have money for what they called the luxury of extra sweets, so I looked forward to Tuesdays and Fridays, when I could sit and munch for an hour and a half. I felt full and happy and grateful to Herr Hitler. After months of enjoying the candies, cookies and cakes, and hearing the words repeated hundreds of times, it stuck. Hitler was good.
At the Friday meetings, in addition to feeding us treats and praising our Fuhrer, they taught us crafts. “The Fuhrer wants you to learn to knit and weave so you will be helpful to his many causes. You will help the poor and suffering. You can be proud.”
I loved to knit. When I displayed my proficiency to Mutter she told me she learned to knit at my age and would teach me some special stitches. As we sat together on the sofa with our yarn and needles one afternoon, she smiled and said, “Helga, you are doing so well, I’m very proud of you. Maybe we can knit Vater some gifts for Christmas.”
She seemed so delighted with my new skill I thought it would be a fine time to praise Hitler for having taught me.
“He didn’t teach you,” she said. “And tell me, if Hitler cares so much about the poor, why doesn’t he do something about them?”
“But, Mutter...”
She gave me a strange look, then bit her lip and said, “Never mind. I’m sure you’re right.” We continued with our knitting that afternoon, but Mutter didn’t suggest it again, and we didn’t knit Christmas gifts for Vater.