“Now we must win over the German people. You mustn’t act yourself, you must obey, you must give in, you must submit to this overwhelming need to obey.”
Adolf Hitler, speaking to his S.A.and S.S troops the evening he became Reich's Chancellor of Germany
Home for Christmas
In December 1941 Germany declared war on the United States, Hitler took complete command of the German Army, and we were sent home. We were awakened early one morning by a leader Jugend. “Pack up and get ready. You are going back to Berlin.”
“Why?” we all asked at once.
She stood in our bedroom doorway, arms folded. “No questions. Do as you’re told. Now!”
“Is the war over?”
“No. The Russians are near. Now get up and pack.”
We had been taught Russians were as horrible as Americans. We didn’t take time to ask any more questions.
Motivated by fear of the Russians, as well as our Jugend leaders, we stuffed our clothes into our suitcases with little more thought, except to be sure I had my lucky bird. As we carried, half- dragging, our bags to the train, the thought struck. We were going home! It hit Emma at the same time. She shouted, “We’re going home. I can hardly believe it. We’re really going home!”
“And we’ll be there in time for Christmas!” Agatha yelled.
“Home for Christmas. Home for Christmas.” We dropped our bags and hugged and jumped together. But we quickly retrieved them when we saw a Jugend leader running toward us.
“Do you want to miss the train?” she snarled. “Hurry. No stopping.”
This time we were crammed, ten or fifteen of us, into small compartments. But we were together. And we were going home for Christmas! Nothing else mattered.
“What is your favorite thing to do at Christmas?” Emma asked me.
“To light candles and sing and eat Mutter’s dinner.”
“I love to help Mutter make pfeffernusse cookies,” Emma said.
“I love pfeffernusse cookies!” Agatha laughed.
“What do you think Hitler wants for Christmas?” I asked Agatha.
“Peace in the world and happiness for all,” she answered.
“I do, too. He is a wonderful, thoughtful man,” Emma said. “I only wish I could give him a gift.”
“Let’s sing for him.”
We all stood, very pleased with ourselves and sang songs we learned at camp. Our favorite described how we often heard the sound of his voice. Each word sank into our souls.
We all know: The day will come that frees us from need and compulsion.
The pure faith that you have given us
Pulses through, guides our young lives
My Fuhrer, you alone are the way, the goal!
As we ended the song, we raised our arms together and yelled, “Heil Hitler!” Then we sang the song again, hailing Hitler again. We were proud, happy Jugends, and we gave the Fuhrer full credit.
Like the trip two years earlier, our train stopped several times to allow troop trains to pass. We waved through the windows at the soldiers who would not be going home for Christmas. Emma stood at the window for hours, hoping to glimpse her brother. She gave up in tears. She had not heard news of Eugene in weeks.
“Maybe he’s dead, and Mutter hasn’t told me.”
I gave a silent prayer that Eugene would be at the station to surprise Emma. “I bet you’re wrong. He’ll probably be standing right there with your parents!” We were excited to see our families, but dreaded being separated from each other. So the last few miles we held hands and talked of seeing each other soon.
“We’ll meet at Emma’s house," Agatha suggested. "It’s halfway between both of ours.”
“The day after we get home,” I vowed.
“Promise?” Emma asked.
“Promise!
The three day train ride was much too short for me to reconcile my feelings between loving the Fuhrer and loving my parents. The great Fuhrer had taken good care of us. He had kept us safe and fed us. How would my parents feel about him now? Could I speak freely about him? Would they see how I’d grown up? That I understood things that maybe they didn’t? I would hate it if they did not love our leader as I did. I felt more nervous with the passing of each hour.
Peering out the window at the countryside, I saw the painting of a nightmare. The brown, slushy snow, piling up against burned-out houses and broken carts shocked me. We knew about the war, but we had never seen the devastation it left behind. We had no idea it came so near our homes. We stood close to each other, arms linked, as we viewed the ruins in silence.
“Bless the Fuhrer for keeping us safe,” Emma murmured.
“Yes, Bless him,” Agatha and I echoed.
As we pulled into the station, I was filled with anxiety one moment and elation the next. We dragged our bags down the aisles and off the train. We stood together looking for our families. Agatha spotted her parents hurrying toward us. She let out a happy scream, and then ran to them, saluted Hitler first, then hugged them. Searching the crowd, Emma caught sight of her Mutter and Vater.
“You were wrong,” she said to me sadly, Eugene is not here.” Hanging back for a moment, she walked to her parents, saluted Hitler, and gave her Mutter a kiss on the cheek.
When I didn’t see my family, my heart sank. But I also felt a little relieved. Maybe if I had more time, I’d feel less anxious. I wasn’t sure I really wanted to see them.
Then the crowd parted for a moment, revealing Mutter, Vater, Amalie, Grossvater and Grossmutter standing in a row, smiling and waving at me. I waved back. No one moved. We all stayed where we were, waving. It had been nearly two years since I’d seen them. I wasn’t prepared for such an odd, disconnected feeling. I stood on one side of an invisible wall. They stood on the other. I didn’t know how to break through, or even if I wanted to. I felt lonely and awkward. I put my shoulders back with my arm up to hail the Fuhrer, when Grossmutter stepped forward and held out her arms to me. I ran into them and gratefully accepted her tight embrace. Then, at arms' length, she studied me. “Helga! You are all grown up!”
Grossvater, Mutter, and Vater repeated the chorus: “Helga! You look so grown up.”
I pulled myself up to my full height. “I’m nearly thirteen. I should.”
Four-year-old Amalie pouted, hiding her face behind Mutter’s skirt, when Vater said, “Say hello to your sister.”
Grossvater kept repeating, “Well, well, well.”
Grossmutter held my hand during our four-block walk to the apartment. Each step she took she commented on how hard it was to walk in the rubble and how happy she was to see me.
With piles of wreckage where buildings once stood, the city looked broken. I was shocked. How could Hitler have let this happen? I thought he had taken care of my family as he had taken care of me. Mutter had said nothing about this in her letters. Maybe she was afraid someone would open her letters, too.
When we entered the apartment, Vater closed and locked the door behind us. For a brief moment I stood alone in the center of the room, again feeling detached, as they all stared at me. Then everyone started talking at once, hugging me. I felt Grossmutter’s bones through her cotton dress. Grossvater looked smaller, and his eyes were sad. But their hugs were as warm as I’d remembered. Vater, his hair grayer, deeper creases in his brow, kissed me on the cheek. Mutter stood slightly away from the group, dabbing her eyes and smiling. She looked tired. Her dress seemed too large for her. Amalie yanked at my skirt until I picked her up. She studied me for a moment and then wanted to get down. For the next few minutes, I reveled in their welcoming. I had forgotten what it felt like. Or maybe didn't let myself remember.
We were all in high spirits. But the room was depressing. It smelled stale and dank. It was midday and the drapes were drawn across the windows. One small lamp was lit.
“Mutter, why are the drapes closed?” I asked “Let’s open them.” As I reached out, Mutter pulled my hands away and held them. “No, Helga. Leave the drapes as they are.”
“Why? It’s so dark in here.”
Mutter looked quickly at Vater, “We like it this way. Now, let’s all wash up.”
“But it’s so gloomy. Why...”
“It’s time for dinner,” Vater said, and turned away.
Grossmutter looped her arm in mine. ”You look hungry, Helga,” she said, “Let’s wash for dinner.”
The table was set with Mutter’s lace tablecloth and her best silver, handed down from her Mutter. She doled out potato and carrot stew in her treasured Limoges bowls, accompanied by bread on plates she kept in her special display cabinet. It felt wonderful to think it was in my honor. But I didn’t know how to respond. Mutter hushed us, nodding to Grossmutter, who gave the blessing, “Lord we’re grateful to have our Helga home, safe and well. We hope this nasty war will soon be over. We thank you for this food.” We all murmured, 'Amen.'” I mentally added, "Please keep the Fuhrer safe." It felt strange. I hadn’t prayed out loud for two years. I hoped the Fuhrer would approve of me praying with my Lutheran family.
The warm bread tasted flat. I was used to lots of butter. I looked for the butter dish that had always been in the center of the table. “You forgot the butter, Mutter.”
“There is none,” Grossmutter said quietly. “Now enjoy your stew while it’s hot. There’s a surprise for dessert.” She headed for the kitchen.
Remembering the huge platters of meat and vegetables we were served at camp, I couldn’t believe our family had so little. Especially a small thing like butter. After we finished our stew, Grossmutter and Mutter began to clear the table. I rose to help, but Mutter gently pushed me down onto my chair, kissed the top of my head, and said, “Tonight you are the guest, Helga. Tomorrow you can help with the duties.”
Grossmutter returned and sat down with a huge grin on her face. “Get ready, Helga!”
Mutter appeared at the kitchen door, beaming, as if posing for a picture. She held high a platter with a small cake in the center. Everyone applauded as Vater stood up. “Look, Helga, what your Mutter has baked for your homecoming! We haven’t had cake for many months. This is a special day!”
Grossmutter patted my hand. “Your Mutter has saved her ration stamps for weeks, Helga.”
“But Mutter, how did you know I’d be coming home?”
Mutter looked at me, her tears making her eyes shine, “I just had a feeling.”
Grossvater chuckled, “Mutters know these things.
“And Grossmutter saved, too.” Mutter said.
Silence. I knew they were waiting for me to express my gratitude. “Thank you, Mutter and Grossmutter, for the beautiful cake,” I said, dutifully, as I thought of all the wonderful cakes I took for granted at the hotel.
As Mutter cut the portions and we ate our special cake, I remembered how little we had to eat before I went to camp. Now, looking around the table, I became conscious again of how thin and pale Mutter and Vater were, and of the new creases on their faces and the gray in their hair. They had turned old since I left. I’d only been gone two years. What happened to them?
After a long moment, Mutter spoke up, “You know, Grossmutter and Grossvater live here in the city now.”
“Yah,” Grossmutter added, “It’s only a couple of blocks from here. We can visit all the time.”
Expecting a happy answer, I asked Grossvater how he liked their apartment.
“It’s nothing but a hole in the wall. We wouldn’t have to live there if the Nazis hadn’t taken over our home in the country. I built that cottage with my own two hands. They had no right to throw us out.”
He was about to say something more when Grossmutter put her hand on his arm and smiled at me, “You know how Grossvater always jokes. He didn’t mean that.” She patted his hand, shook her head slightly at him, and looked at Mutter.
Mutter said quickly, “Tell us about your life in the hotel, Helga.”
For the next hour Mutter, Grossmutter and I talked about the past year. I told them about the beautiful hotel, the daily activities, the abundance of food, how I loved rooming with my friends, and how grateful we were to our Fuhrer. Mutter and Grossmutter listened, nodding and asking questions. Grossvater and Vater sat silently sucking on empty pipes.
During that hour I noticed another change. There was no music playing. There had always been music in our home. We listened every day to the radio or the Victrola. I remembered Mutter shouting from the kitchen, “Wind the Victrola again, Helga.” She often stood in the hallway door, swaying her body while she hummed dreamily with the music. “Music is truly a blessing. It shoos away all the bad feelings. I’d hate to live without music in the house.”
I looked around the room for the Victrola Vater had given Mutter for Christmas when I was little. It was her prized possession, commanding the place of honor between the coat tree and the window. But on this day I spied it in the corner, covered with a tablecloth, behind the sofa.
"Mutter, can we wind the music box and play a tune?”
“No, Helga, it doesn’t work well anymore, and it makes too much noise. It’s best to be quiet. Who wants more cake?”
After Grossmutter and Grossvater left for their apartment, I noticed other strange things. My Mutter’s blouse and skirt were plain brown. She had always worn brightly-colored clothes with flowers and butterfly prints. Even her bathrobe and coat were bright red. But the coat she had on at the train station was black. Her hat was black, her shoes and bag were black. The dress she wore now was brown. What happened to Mutter?
Later, in my room, Amalie and Mutter helped me unpack. Mutter kept assuring me there was, “lots of extra space in the hall closet, if I needed it.” Amalie inquired about every item she pulled from my suitcase. The moment was warm with love, but I missed my beautiful, cheerful Mutter I’d known before I left. “You look so pretty in colorful clothes, Mutter. Don’t you wear them anymore?”
After a moment, in a cautious tone, she replied. “It’s best not to stand out in a crowd.” She kissed my cheek, “But everything will be fine now that you’re home, Helga.”
The next morning I walked with Mutter and Amalie the two miles to the market. There was rubble and bombed out homes everywhere. Piles of bricks and wood had been pushed aside to make a path in the street for the carts and trucks. I hated the Americans and British for ruining my city.
The streets were not buzzing with people as they were before I left. “Where did the automobiles go?” I asked Mutter.
“The Fuhrer took them for his SS men. Everyone rides the bus now.”
The few people on the street walked with shoulders bent, heads down, not greeting each other. Not even hailing the Fuhrer! No one looked at us. They seemed frightened, speaking in hushed voices. This was not the town I remembered. I was not used to such bleakness. I did not live with fear at camp. I was used to eating well. Here there were no comforts.
When we reached the meat market, fifteen or twenty people stood waiting for the door to open. No one spoke. They didn’t look at each other. Mutter and I joined the line, standing quietly for a few minutes, I asked Mutter why we had to wait.
“Let’s go to the market for vegetables and come back here later,” I said.
“There is always a line. There will also be lines there, too. That’s why I come early. Sometimes it takes most of the day. We have to wait. There is no use complaining.”
After an hour, the owner opened the front door. The line began to move. When we finally arrived at the counter, we found the butcher had received an order of beef. Mutter was in time to buy a piece. She was so excited I thought she might run behind the counter and hug the man.
“Oh, how wonderful! Thank you. Herr Schtroll. We will eat tonight!” It surprised me to see Mutter so delighted. We always had beef at camp. I thought everyone did. She set her hand on the small of my back and spoke louder than usual. “This is my daughter, Helga, she has come home." She nudged me closer to the counter.
Herr Schtroll wiped both hands on his slightly bloody apron, thrusting one toward me. “Yes, I remember you, little Helga! You are all grown up!”
“Heil Hitler,” I said briskly and shook his hand.
He responded without enthusiasm. His handshake went limp.
We continued to the vegetable stand, where we found a few shriveled carrots. At camp we would have thrown them away. But Mutter purchased them and reverently placed them in her string bag, as she mumbled, “If Grossmutter and Grossvater had been allowed to live in their cottage we wouldn’t have to buy old carrots. They would bring us fresh vegetables every week.”
We walked home, trying to avoid tripping on the debris, watching our feet pick the way. Once, for an instant, I looked up and found myself looking into the angry eyes of a skinny, bent old woman. As I moved closer, I saw she was no older than Mutter. Her stare chilled me. I turned my eyes to the rubble again.
We walked the remaining three blocks, silent in our own thoughts. After we arrived home and stored the precious food, Mutter put her finger to her chin and said, “Let me see, I think it may be time to decorate for Christmas. What do you say we get the boxes from your closet shelf?”
“Oh, Mutter! Yes! That would be wonderful.”
Thoughts of St. Nicholas, Christmas music, and sweet baking smells pushed everything else from my head. Mutter climbed up on a chair and handed down the boxes to Amalie and me. As we pulled and shoved them into the front room, Vater opened the door. “Well, well, what are my girls doing now?”
“We’re making a mess, Friedrich,” Mutter laughed.
“We’re decorating for Christmas, Vater,” I said.
Amalie took two big hops to Vater, “Look, I found a silver bell.”
“I remember that little bell,” Vater said. "Grossmutter gave me that when I was about your age. Pull the cord on the bottom.”
Amalie pulled, and the music box inside the bell played Silent Night. Everyone stopped what they were doing. As they listened, Vater and Mutter gave one another a nostalgic look. When the tune was over, Mutter stepped to Vater and gave him a sweet kiss. Then she turned to us and asked where we should hang it. Clapping her hands, Amalie said, “Over the dinner table!”
As we decorated, I was warmed by laughing, teasing and love I hadn’t felt in years.
Christmas Eve was joyful. We didn’t mention not having a tree, not even Amalie. We spread the gifts on the floor, in front of the crèche. In fact, they were piled high. I couldn’t believe the number of packages and began to count them, as I had when I was a little girl. Mutter came up behind me and took my hand.
“We missed you for two Christmas celebrations. We wanted to make this one special. Welcome home, my dear Helga.”
Before we ate our dinner we held hands around the table, Amalie pulled the cord on the music box bell and we sang Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht. Silent Night holy Night. We sang it twice to the end, and then applauded ourselves.
I didn’t think of Hitler or feel guilty or fearful once that evening.