Letters from your Boy

Robyn 0:00

Blood flowed, the government was deposed, a workers and soldiers council was formed, and a master saddler became the imperial chancellor. And so on. Were it not tragic, one could laugh.

Thad 0:36

Um over a year ago. And for the last year, Robin has gone back and forth with this lady, trying to figure out uh what to use. There for a while, we focused on her husband and his experiences in the trenches of World War I. Um, we dealt with the issues of him going off to war and leaving her at home with the kids. Um and we've kind of gone back and forth on a lot of aspects of this, trying to figure out what part of this to tell. And it's difficult because when you're looking at somebody's personal letters and when you're looking at somebody's diary, and and and things that they may not have intended for the world to consume, you have to have some discretion in figuring out what is appropriate, what is appropriate. Um, so for example, this material was provided for the archive by this lady's uh granddaughter, and they have asked us to to not have um identifying information, the names in there. And part of that is just because some of this is not particularly flattering to to this woman. She lived from the late 1800s up into the the mid-1950s. Um, and so she had a relatively uh long life, but uh she's she's kind of all over the place. And this is a story about uh a people being people, you know, about a person who's just trying to do the best they can. She is not, you know, you you oftentimes read stories of of people going through the war and you know being heroes and doing all kinds of heroic stuff and and sacrificing on the home front.

Robyn 2:14

And this was not her.

Thad 2:16

And this was not her.

Robyn 2:17

This absolutely was not her. Um, she grew up in a very upper middle class family in the late 1800s and early 1900s, um, and she got married and had an idyllic life with her husband and had a couple kids. She was living the life of a normal middle class woman. And so when tragedy struck in the first world war, she didn't know what to do. I mean, she hadn't been trained in how to cook or clean or work or do anything really that would require her to take care of her children and her mother and and make it through a war. Uh so her diary is very interesting in that, you know, like Thad said, there's stories of people that were toughen it out. She was not. Like no part of her was able to tough this out um in the way that a lot of people do that we hear about. She made it, but it it wasn't, you know, the story of someone who came through a stronger person at all.

Thad 3:24

Right. But one of the things that that we have to deal with as historians when we're looking at people's accounts is that we're almost always, when dealing with history, looking at people's stories. And the stories that are passed down to us are oftentimes uh they're they're cultivated. They're stories that someone is wanting to tell someone else. Yeah, it's kind of like the fish story, right? You know, you come back from the fishing trip and you you're nobody can see the fish that you've caught really, that you you already ate it. So they just have to go on the story that you're telling about what happened. And so, you know, when we're looking at material that comes from that point in time, from diaries or from letters, they oftentimes tell a story about us in our lives that aren't the most flattering, or maybe aren't the way that we would like to remember them. And so, you know, when we're looking at this, we have to figure out what kind of story should we tell about this person, or what would they want us to tell. And that can change because people change over time, countries change, nations change. What the stories are that we tell each other today about um the past can can be different. Because we're different.

Robyn 4:44

For this person, uh, we were looking at uh letters and memoir, and so I've included her diary where it's very raw, very emotional, and how she was feeling at this moment. Well, the memoir of the same time, you know, it expresses the same events that happened, but in a different light in many ways, because um this the second part, the memoir, she was writing for her children and her grandchildren for them to know what she lived through. Whereas the diary was just what she was feeling at that time. And so part of the issue dealing with this um memoir in diaries uh was trying to reconcile those because they didn't necessarily align.

Thad 5:32

So she has a view of she you get a view of herself as she wants to remember it in her memoirs, and then you have a view of her day-to-day as she was living it account. And those accounts are different because the way that we remember things is oftentimes the way we want to remember things, or those stories that we tell about our past are the way that we would like that to be. Uh and so, you know, we freaking we struggle with that ourselves. Uh, we have recently had an experience where we've encountered that in our personal lives. So Robin and I have been married for a long time. And when we were first courting, we sent a series of emails back and forth to each other, many numerous emails. And coming up on way, way, way too many emails. Way too many emails. But on the you know, the eve of our anniversary, I thought to myself, man, it would be awesome, you know, an interesting anniversary present, since we're going through and literally reading the letters between, you know, a guy and his wife in World War I, it might be interesting to go through, collect up those emails, and and and and organize them into like a little booklet or something. And I was reading through the emails that we had, and I realized that oftentimes those are those were raw, and the context of who we were when we were writing those to each other has changed dramatically. And so, you know, I was it was gonna be a surprise. And so I called Robin over at some point. I said, honey, what do you think about this?

Robyn 7:03

And her response was, oh no, please, no, no, don't do that thing. Right.

Thad 7:08

So I thought, oh, you know, this is gonna be a great thing, but it's a story of us, but we Robin pointed this out. We're different people. We are not the people that we were at that point in time.

Robyn 7:21

And our entire context changed it was nearly 20 years ago. I mean, everybody, I think, changes over time. And so you look at these young emails and stuff of people just getting to know each other and and it's very different than people that I mean, then Thad and I have been married a couple decades now.

Thad 7:40

Those are different people, right? And so looking at those and saying, oh, well, that's our story. Well, it it's a version of a story, but that's not who we are today. And and so, you know, that you know, when we were going through that and we were like, and Robin said, no, no, no, we we should not do this. You know, let's not necessarily, you know, bury them, but we don't, I don't need to keep these around and and listen to look at them. So taking that experience and then thinking it, keeping that in mind as we're dealing with somebody else's letters to each other and their diaries, it put things in a bit of a perspective. You know, it it brought home the concept that people change. And we should be respectful, we have to be respectful of that. We have to understand that not everything that people wrote down that they expect someone 100 years later to to pick up and be talking about. Um and so, yeah, we we're sensitive to that. And in fact, that's you know, it's it's kind of like when we're talking about the way that we want to remember ourselves or the way we want to remember our past versus um what you know was actually happening at the time, the you know, we that we went through that. We we experienced that personally, and so trying to reconcile that with our job, with our role as historians, of wanting to tell the truth, of wanting to to get down into the weeds of people's lives, but at the same time being respectful of who they were and what they would want us to take away from them is something that has come home to us personally in that experience.

Robyn 9:23

So when it comes to Elsa, I struggled with um with her, who she was, who she thought she was, um, for, as we said, over a year. And I get attached to the people's diaries that I'm transcribing. I spend a lot of time with them. And it was just really hard to get a feel for who she was because the person she was writing about, and she would say phrases like, you know, I was so strong, and and then literally like the same day in the letter that she's writing about, she's talking about throwing herself across the couch with uh a handkerchief in her mouth so that she won't scream. And, you know, you read these and it's it's just this huge disconnect. So, like when you're transc when I'm transcribing and when I'm trying to bring this to you, I struggle with like who is this person? For most of the things we bring, they're either diaries or memoirs. And so this one is special because not only are there diaries are memoirs, but there's also a third perspective for a chunk of it, which is her husband who went off to war.

Thad 10:32

And he's writing letters back to her.

Robyn 10:33

Well, it says, yeah, he was writing letters back to her. So we have his letters back to her, but we don't have her letters to him. So it's it's just a very complicated mess of different perspectives. Different perspectives and who this woman was. And sometimes well, I just I wonder if she even really knew who she was at one point. She says that she thinks she was half mad.

Thad 11:01

Sometimes our perspective of things is is different than if we remember, you know, a week later or a year later, and we go through messy times. And so this is a this really is a a messy story about about a lady's life who is who's just like us, who who has you know things where she tries she's trying to do the best she can with what she's got.

Robyn 11:23

Elsie led an upper middle class life as a child, got married when she was young and had two girls. They were seven and four when the war broke out. Her husband left for the Western Front with the first group of soldiers from Germany. He wrote his first letter home on August 3rd, 1914. The following letters, written of course from the German perspective, are fascinating. I ask my son Zayn to read his letters.

Zane 11:46

Dearest, I got here safely. Please don't worry about me. I will be staying here for a while. The Armouro told me that our assignment would probably be to participate in any siege in Sedan. Please send me my military pants as soon as possible. I was offered someone else's pair, but they hadn't taken off to use the restroom. Of course, I refuse them, but who knows what I'll get now. Many heartfelt kisses to you all, especially to you. August seventh. My dearest, tonight more battalion troops are arriving. They will need to be quartered and outfitted. I do not know when I will find the time to write or sleep again, so I am seizing a free moment to write to you one more letter. I worry so much for you and the children. I would go through anything. If only I knew you would be safe. Saying goodbye to you was grueling. I felt as if the very best part of me were being cut away. Until today, I have walked around feeling utterly empty and numb. News of England's declaration of war, however, has brought me back to myself. Now the call is to fight, to save you, as well as all Germans. The activity here is amazing. Everyone is so calm carrying out all this incredible work. It's as if it were merely a training maneuver. People get really excited when fresh trains arrive and rush new troops to the front lines. It makes us feel radiant of pride to be a German and protect a German nation. Boys young as seventeen alongside old grey haired men are volunteering in droves. Of course, I'm not allowed to write you any of the specific details, as that would constitute treason, but I will tell you all about it in person. I love you so very, very much. Please give the children a thousand kisses and tell my parents that I am doing fine. I've been doing a lot of work lately, fetching the wagon to receive the straw, hauling the straw, picking up the squads at midnight and taking them to a nearby monastery. This last operation took place in pitch darkness. Because of the French aircraft, no lights are allowed to be switched on. The Belgians are behaving even worse than the Serbs. Their ultimatum expires tomorrow at 8. If they do not comply, the entire lot of them, including women and cripples, will be mowed down. There is no room for mercy anymore. A battle like this one is unprecedented. The French prisoners arriving here are miserably dressed. You should have seen our huge transports leaving here. Spotless. Everything impeccably field grey, all new gear, every soldier a new pair of boots and a new pair of lace-up shoes, along with a set of ammunition. Russia's ammunition supply is completely failing. England is in financial trouble. It would be a miracle if we didn't win the war. German soldiers are covering France. We're here on pins and needles, and for the time being, there's no prospect of getting close. France has many spies. Yesterday I stopped two men and took them to their headquarters. Our men are now fully outfitted, and we are awaiting further orders. I wish you could see how sharp and disciplined things are here, despite this being a land where y new volunteers are streaming in every day. Bismarck was right when he says that the German Reich would blow up like a powder keg if ever forced into war again. It makes me happy to know that the children are doing what so well and how wonderful it is to hear that Booby is running around eating heartily again. I hear Annalise is being quite lazy when it comes to geography. After the war though, the whole world will have to be reeducated. Hold on to the newspapers carefully. One day they will become documents of great historical value. September first. Today we went on a long, magnificent march. On the way I ate at least a pound of blackberries. What did you make of the seventy thousand Russians we took prisoner? The best use for those fellows would be as fertilizer for the fields. The crown prince continues to press forward aggressively. Surely we will be standing in Paris by the end of the week. I also haven't heard anything yet regarding moving up to the front. Tomorrow I will have more orders, and after that, there will likely be little time left over for writing. Heartfelt greetings to you all. Kisses to the little ones and to yourself. Your boy. September third. My dearest love, so we did win Sedan after all. His Majesty was with the troops in person. Now follows the siege of Reims, and the three routes to Paris lie open. We are now a mere eighty kilometers away. They will likely be left utterly agape with astonishment when, despite all the lies peddled by their newspapers, the Germans suddenly appear right at the Paris gates. In any case, we have an interesting week ahead of us. September ninth. Yesterday's dispatch from headquarters demonstrates just how quickly our reassignment could take place. So I must keep funds available to pay for things I need. Now you write to me that you need medicine and that you could only afford it if I were to send you some money. Please don't try to save money at the expense of your health, but I've spoken to you about our circumstances. Today I can also tell you that since we'll become officers immediately in the event of combat, you'll receive a quite decent pension from the state in the worst case scenario. So please stop worrying so excessively. Think a little like an American, not reckless, but practical. Worrying doesn't help. It is the fear of something that isn't even there yet. We have a new major again. This constant turnover in superiors is so unpleasant because we inevitably get someone worse. Write again soon with news of all of you and the children and give him a kiss for me. Your boy. September eighteenth. My dearest little one, the whole thing came about somewhat suddenly. We are now in the infantry regiment 160 and are here fully prepared for departure and do not know where we will be sent. I will provide my address as soon as possible. As soon as I do, send me one or two undershirts and a pair of long johns, as well as two to four pairs of socks. I also need a wrist warmer. Please find out what the maximum size and weight limits are for field post parcels. Don't worry unnecessarily. We might be assigned to garrison duty or something else far from danger. My captain, as well as Mac and Hunaman, are with me. Hopefully we will end up in the same company. Many greeting and kisses to my parents and to my darling. Embracing you and the children with deep love. Your boy. September twenty fifth. Dearest, we arrived at the front late last night and the enemy lies before us. We camped through the night amidst artillery and rifle fire. We froze terribly and everyone was utterly miserable. Washing and undressing our things of the past now, as water is scarce and needed for cooking and drinking. But right now, after a fine cup of coffee and a piece of army bread, I feel completely fine. If the situation weren't so bad, there could be nothing more interesting than this adventurous life. Right next to me, a couple of fellows are shooting an ox to slaughter for roasting. Over yonder, a French aircraft is being shelled with artillery fire. The village where we are staying has been completely shot to pieces and presents a magnificent sight against the backdrop of the glorious sunrise. We're in a very difficult position here, fighting the French at their largest firing range near Chalon, where they will know every tree and bush. Our army corps has suffered exceptionally heavy losses, and reinforcements are not coming. Now it seems that we are to fight with artillery for a while to prevent further heavy losses. Our main task now is to prevent the enemy from breaking through our lines. It's an exciting life. Every moment in constant shooting. You must be careful of planes because as soon as they spot a troop position, an hour later the spot is littered with shrapnel and grenades. The nights are terribly cold down in the earth holes. Well, it's enough to make you puke your guts out. Right? And tell me soon what else is happening, whether things are at least making progress somewhere else, so that hopefully somewhere it looks like this war is ending soon. Anyone who hasn't seen it with their own eyes cannot possibly form even the faintest idea of the horrific and terrible nature of war. It is too gruesome. I am frustrated that this is the tenth week and our leaders still haven't realized how bad this is and brought about peace at all costs. I have become completely separated from my friends. Mack fell ill along the way and I don't know where he ended up. Hunaman is at least in my battalion, though his company is currently stationed quite far away. Towards evening, I visit a few comrades from the first company. That is always the finest hour of the day. Today we are expecting reinforcements in the form of volunteers. Dearest, everything will be alright, and if the worst should happen, I will at least have been able to help keep the war out of our country. But don't worry, I'll be back soon. What a celebration it will be. You dearest one, give the children many love and kisses. I can't write to everyone individually, and I'm already surprised that I had time for a letter this time. I hope you receive it. Today our company was listed as missing because we had to stay in the firing line longer than we were supposed to. Should anything of the sort appear in the casualty lists, rest assured that this was a mistake. Near Som, October first. My sweet darling, it is noon. The night was quiet and the morning has been well. I am lying in the beautiful warm sun, letting the night's chills wash away. If it weren't for the cannons roaring around and the occasional shells howling high above at us, it would be a wonderful day. I am in a desolate area. There is not a village in sight. I'm not allowed to tell you any more about the position. We don't know all that much ourselves, except that this won't be over anytime soon. The last few days of the last week were so full of new things and such terrible things that I must frankly confess to you that my famous composure was on the verge of breaking down. I am passing through a new phase of life, and here too, I intend to do the very best I can with all of my strength. Do not think too much about me. Instead focus on the things around you. Anything else is merely futile sentimentality but only serves to weaken one. It hasn't taken much time for me to learn a lot. I have discovered the immense value that others find taking refuge in God in heaven. I have learned that there is something good within every human being, and that if this good fails to surface, it is their fault. Furthermore, I know that this immense struggle for equilibrium cannot be resolved until it has run its full and complete course. October 8th. I am in the military hospital, so I am safe for a few days. My diarrhea had become so bad that staying at the front was impossible. I have a mild case of dysentery, which is more unpleasant than dangerous. Everyone here is suffering from the same problem. There wasn't a bed, as I'd expected, but there were mattresses that were heavenly soft compared to the holes in the ground. Even though I had to sleep in my clothes, I was able to wash myself, which is the best thing. It was also a peculiar feeling to be able to sleep without being disturbed by grenades or air raid sirens. In short, it felt like heaven. I'd like to add something to my wish list. Please send me some hard cured sausage, matches, and margarine. Naturally all this gradually, since the parcels are quite small. We all hope here that things will naturally start moving forward a bit. Surely the war will end soon. For about five weeks now we have been facing one another like cats and dogs. It really wears on you. We will suffer particularly from the desolate terrain in which we are stationed as well as the biting cold at night. We have we received no news whatsoever, and those of us who arrived more recently suffer acutely from the fact that we are still missing news from our loved ones, along with the care packages that usually accompany such letters. I wonder what you dear folks back in Frankenforst must be doing. I think of you also very often, especially now that I finally have a moment to sit and reflect. My physical misery due to this ongoing intestinal trouble is quite acute. Here we are being fed cakes, cocoa, and rice. It is essentially invalid's fare. The food from the field kitchen was decidedly better. I hope you are faithfully conveying my greeting to all our loved ones. I trust that you will forgive me for not writing to them individually. Please would you also write to Bremen on my behalf? And perhaps Moody could send an update to Saxony? After all, you folks have the time to do so. I hear that a private car is heading to Trier tomorrow morning and is willing to take along some mail. This should, therefore, arrive sooner than the regular field post, so I am quickly jotting down a few lines for you. In case my recent postcards haven't reached you yet, I am repeating news that I have been lying here in the field hospital since Tuesday evening, specifically due to a severe bout of diarrhoea, though that is already nearly cured. So for the past few days and still now, I have been in safety, something which, I am sure, brings you great joy. You will learn a lot of the details from my letter of yesterday. Here, everyone shares just one wish that the war will end soon. We have been lying here facing the French for weeks now. Daily skirmishes, gunfire, shelling, alerts. I tell you, it is a grueling ordeal for Venerves. The decisive turn must come from another front. Who knows how much longer we will be stuck here? It is truly remarkable that people can endure. Yet those who make it through this will remain serious-minded individuals for the rest of their lives. For a French, this is a harrowing period that will likely exact an even heavier toll in the terms of health and human life. I am quite weak following my intestinal troubles, but I will likely have to return to the front by Sunday or Monday, for we are needed there. Today, we finally managed to read some newspapers up to the issue of October 4th, though they contain little of substance, at least not the news you we are looking for. My thoughts are grave, yet calm. For what good is complaining? I remain true to my old maxim, to the best of every situation. Yesterday we managed to scrounge up a little piece of sausage, and what delicacy it was, if only we could get our hands on a piece of chocolate again. With faithful love, your boy. October twelfth. My dearest little one, I haven't fully recovered yet, but I will be returning to the front today or tomorrow. I am quite glad about this, for one certainly doesn't get well amidst the sick people. If only the rain would hold off a little longer. There is a great deal of interesting activity here, which make for a very nice change of pace compared to the monotony on the front. Perhaps, however, things will liven up at the front again now too. Yesterday we were once again treated to a bottle of red wine by the medical officer, and with it we celebrated a little. I was with you all in spirit a great deal yesterday. I will write to you immediately one sign back at the front. Hopefully we'll be lucky enough to be rotated into the reserves for a week at some point. For life in the trenches is exhausting. Many greetings to you all more soon, embracing you and kissing you and the children with love. Your boy. October fourteenth. My dearest one, my dearest, I left the field hospital yesterday and stayed with the combat support troop caravan last night. I am lying in a tent again, smoking a cigar and writing to you. Today I'm going back to the trenches with the kitchen wagon. There are coffins dug into the hard limestone soil so deep that a man can stand them. Of every eight men, two are always on guard and watch the enemy, who is three hundred to four hundred meters in front of us, also in trenches. The French waste ammunition. If one of us shows any sign of movement, they immediately fire volleys and they bombard our trenches with shells and shrapnel. We've been in this situation for three weeks and are still glad that we don't have to attack because that would tantamount to mass murder. The French have recently been trying to break through our lines, but have been sent back with terrible losses on their side because we have artillery and machine guns distributed along the front. Lying down is hardly possible in the trenches, so you basically only sleep standing or sitting, and only for short periods. You can imagine that the dirty, hard mattresses in the field hospital were like a four poster bed to me. And now, as with yesterday, Ryan is also in the forecast. If we could just spend a few days in the reserves, we'd all deserve it. I won't even write about the other things. Hopefully I can tell you all about it someday, although the horror of war is indescribable. My spirits are good though, and I won't let myself get down easily. Please don't send any more woolen items since we can't store them. Of food, only chocolate and cigarettes, maybe a few sour candies. Until now, I've always been fed by those who received gifts from home. People are all happy to share with me, and I'm just glad when I can reciprocate a little. Above all, I long for a few lines from your dear little hand and for news of how you are. For a few days now, we've been firing on the French here with their own captured and heavy English guns. This will be a particular pleasure for them. We have a lot of work ahead of us here. You know, of course, that you and the children are the very center of my thoughts. My dearest one, the men who return home from this place are either devils or gods. I seem to have more of an inclination toward the latter. Back support troops who aren't quite exposed to the direst fire, one can hear laughter and singing once again. That has ceased entirely for us up here on the front line. However, all that will change in an instant the moment the situation here quiets down for us a little. We all want this to be over. Well, my dearest, I did not intend for this letter to be so upsetting, but sometimes one simply needs to unburden one's heart a little. Out here, after all, we do our very best to keep our spirits up whenever possible. Your Walty October eighteenth Dearest little one, I am writing to you my heartfelt greeting from the trenches. The damned Frenchmen are shooting constantly, and there is no peace. I am doing quite well again, though I still can't quite stomach the greasy food from the field kitchen yet. I'm sure I'll get used to it again. We are becoming increasingly field grey out there. Since shaving is no longer an option, we are all sporting that impeccable soldier's beard. I've taken myself a fine head warmer from the care packages, one that will, hopefully, serve me well for a good long time, for it is cold here. We are situated at an altitude of roughly 400 to 500 meters. I hear that a large mail delivery arrived here again, which will be distributed tomorrow. Hopefully I will get something from you. Many greetings to all, embracing you and the children with love, your boy. October 20th. My diarrhea has improved somewhat. It is merely watery thin now. One could very easily confuse front and back. But now I'm pinning my hopes on Fritz's remedy. Please thank him for it. Yesterday, just as I was laying me midday egg, a shell whizzed past me, missing by only a meter or two, and the sheer forces of the blast knocked me off my feet. The French won't grant a fellow even the slightest bit of pleasure. The general relief parcels did bring some chocolate, albeit of poor quality, but it happens to be one of the very few things that agrees with meat and that I enjoy. Do send me half a pound of butter occasionally, well wrapped of course, as well as some hard block sausage. I've really been craving some lately. Above all though, write back soon. On Thursday or Friday we may move to re the reserves for a few days. However, we don't know whether we should be happy about it. If we are called upon to attack again, we'll be in an even worse predicament than the one we are in right now in the trenches. Furthermore, one only finds peace in the reserves if one gets out of a range of enemy fire, and that rarely happens. Well, I will write and let you know the outcome. Now that Antwerp has fallen, and Verdun too, it is likely in its death throes, things will surely proceed in a somewhat better manner again. Hopefully they will leave us alone for a bit. We have truly suffered enough casualties already. Otherwise I have no news to report. The life of the embedded cave dweller is more dangerous than it is varied. I was pleased to receive news of the children, kiss them tenderly for me, embracing and kissing you with faithful love, your beloved. October twenty fifth. My dear little one, yesterday we endured terrible shellfire once again. A shrapnel shell burst just one meter above me. I thought that my head had burst open, and I've been a splitting headache ever since. A corporal standing next to me, however, took a shrapnel ball in the back instead. There seems to be no prospect of peace for the time being. Many regards to you all, you, my darling, and the children. Kissed most affectionately by your boy. October twenty seventh. My dearest love, we have pulled back a few days ago, at least far enough that the artillery no longer torments us quite so severely. Nevertheless, several thousand heavy shells flew in here yesterday. They were intended for the heavy artillery positioned right next to us. However, they landed a few hundred meters away from us. We are living in dugouts here as well, but the entire battalion is together, and our only duty is to scramble for cover as quickly as possible whenever aircraft approach, so they don't spot us in direct artillery fire our way. Besides that, those fellows carry some rather nice little gifts with them. Shells, and also heavy iron darts that they drop by the handful. Things that have already caused some nasty injuries. So, that is how things are here. I was nominated for lieutenant by the major, but my captain, who, as always, is completely out of a loop, said I would then have to commit to two weekly exercises. Yesterday, I was invited to dinner by the major and brought it up again. He told me that he was surprised that I had declined and that he wanted to do everything he could to rectify the situation. Otherwise, he would think of me at the end of the next month. The evening was fantastic and we had a very interesting and pleasant conversation. His father was a consul in Texas. Yesterday, as well as today, I received a lovely letter from you. What a joy. We heard the Kaiser's speech here too, but in the meantime, the leaves have already fallen from the trees. When will it end? The situation regarding the wounded isn't quite the same as it used to be either. Those with minor injuries are now treated on sight. It is only natural that I become more serious yet, as last night spent among my comrades proved, I certainly haven't lost my cheerfulness. It is simply that I feel too isolated within my company. The captain isn't unfriendly toward me, but otherwise he pays me no mind. He has fallen ill now and may well be leaving in a few days. Perhaps things will improve then. I am so very glad that you are bearing up so bravely. You simply must keep singing, my dearest. I want to hear you sing many beautiful songs for me when I return. Parcels from home should be arriving soon too. But in the meantime, I have already managed to supply myself with woolen items and a warm blanket from the relief donations. Occasionally, send some butter and block sausage or Swiss cheese. However, I am in the third company. If I wrote something different, it is because I had always been in the fourth company until now. How I rejoice at your news about the children, kiss the darlings with all my heart, do write me more. Regarding our life in the trenches, I can tell you the following. At night the entire company lies in them. During the day, half do, while the others rest in dugouts and earthen shelters. Two platoon leaders, myself included, take turns night after night, standing watch. On this night, one goes completely without sleep, a terribly exhausting ordeal given the dark nights. As one peers feverishly into the gloom to detect any potential rain in time. If they are spotted, the flares are immediately fired into the sky, instantly turning the night into day. Our positions are so strong that the French absolutely cannot break through unless it is they manage to pull off a surprise. Furthermore, machine guns and artillery are distributed along the entire line. Mortars and hand grenades lie at the ready, as I said, the most diabolical devices for killing human beings. The French are positioned 400 to 700 meters in front of us, lying in similar sunken positions, and they fire practically incessantly. Whenever there is heavy fire or warning of danger, the trench is fully manned again. Such alerts are frequent, but there is precious little opportunity for uninterrupted sleep. I am feeling better again now. I had just eaten apple from the first time in a while. Delicious Well, we are living well here, but I would rather go hungry and be with you. My dearest, what minutes those would be? We meant everything to one another, didn't we, my darling? Read this letter again to your parents. Give my warmest greetings and kisses to the dear ones. October twenty ninth. My dearest one, we could be sent back into the trenches at any moment, and once there, we expect hourly reinforcements, volunteers and the like, which means that because I am company commander now, I will be very busy. I will tell you about my captain later. I am quite glad he is gone, for he was the sort of man who believed he was better than anybody else. But my landware troops are very supportive. I would like to request the prompt shipment of Dalman Lozenges. The few days of rest we have had here have done us a world of good, even though I still haven't been able to get my bowels quite back together. When will we see each other again? One thought the world would burn with such mass slaughter and we would have been able to end the war before this level of destruction, but nothing is heard. Always the constant thunder of artillery, throwing death and destruction into the ranks of everyone, regardless of country, and no end. There is no end. One rushes to the newspapers only to put them down in despair. Everything beautiful has been torn down. One thing is certain, from these ruins something must emerge that was better than before, but this horror had to precede it. Whatever the future may bring, we have kept war out of our beloved homeland. Homeland, the word has acquired special charm out here, something so delicate, sacred. Do you also love Germany more with the blood being shed for it? I do believe that it is profound, the grief of widows from their fallen husbands, yet I also believe that something of that German pride will blossom in their eyes, for they have, after all, valiantly made sacrifices for their homeland, and the children above all, most of all. However, I hold fast to the belief that the finest thing is to try as hard as possible and to return safe and sound to one's loved ones. Yesterday evening, four of us comrades sat together cozily over hot grog, which despite its dubious quality, tasted excellent to us. And yet no other topic of conversation seemed to arise but the war. With its impressions and the thunder of its cannons, it hammers itself so firmly into one's mind that hardly a gentler or more delicate thought could take root. Give my fondest regards to mother, father, Buzz, and Elsie, and you yourself, along with the children. You're Walty. November 2nd. My chronic stone stomach ailment, aggravated by poor nutrition, has triggered about a fever. I am now under care at Rethel Military Hospital. Please write to me there soon. I hope to be able to write myself again before too long, and I send my love to you and the children.

Robyn 42:37

My son has said, My dearly beloved husband no longer dwells upon this earth. On November 11th, at half past five, I received a telegram. Thus, my gloomy forebodings had become a reality. May these terrible times soon cease. The first snow has fallen, and it's so cold and inhospitable outside how the poorest people out there must be freezing. A young pharmacist called here to speak to Father. He'd been lying in the trenches for weeks. Father went to clone and met the man. The man was completely unaware that had died. He told me that he had looked very miserable for a long time, and on November 1st, had suddenly developed a high fever and became delirious. That was when he took him to a field hospital and from there to the main one. November 25th, 1914, a letter from the hospital. Zerb lieutenant was admitted to the Rethel infectious disease hospital with signs of severe typhus. After only three days, he developed life threatening heart failure. He was now completely unconscious. Despite all possible means available to us, it was not possible to save him. Nothing different could have happened at home either. The cause of death was a very severe case of typhoid fever, and his heart was very weak. Outside and such sunny and peaceful days of this most terrible time in the world's history. How much these days hurt me, I cannot describe. I just finished reading some of the last letters that Elsie wrote after uh her husband died. The next place that we pick up with her is when she's in a sanatorium and she's writing a memoir to her children. She's writing in October of 1918. My children, I am now here in this health institute to become more stable. I want you to know how hard I worked to do for you what was best for us. I fought against my inner demons since your father died. I've been brave for you because there's nothing worse than a motherless child. In June 1914, my husband had just returned from a summer trip, when war, a word that strikes fear into everyone, broke out. Days followed where I begged for us to leave, to go anywhere to save and preserve his life. My husband and I traveled to Cologne to buy all we could. People worried that it would soon be besieged. On August 3rd, the third day of mobilization, he had to leave. No one saw my beloved shed a tear. His dad and I left to take him to the station early in the morning. He leaned over the children's little beds and laid a hand on their heads, and a few tears fell upon them. It was a beautiful morning with birds singing, and we walked with our arms around each other. The station was more crowded than usual because everyone was waiting for the same train. It was only when the train began to draw away, relentlessly widening, that I crumbled into my father-in-law's arms. Thankfully, my beloved and I were granted three more reunions. For six weeks he stayed in Koblenz and came over on Saturdays two or three times. Then the family providing quarters invited me to stay with them for a few days. After a few days he moved to a hotel, feeling bad for their hospitality. He asked me to come to Bonn for a few hours before they deployed, but that didn't happen because they were loaded on trains before I could get there. Finally, I began to get letters from him. He wrote in his humorous style, but I could tell that the war was changing him. Then his health began to deteriorate. He contracted dysentery, constantly passing blood and mucus, compounded by a diet of coarse rations instead of proper food, and no prospect of being sent to a field hospital. How often I loathed my soft, warm bed, knowing that he was lying out there on the cold earth, freezing. Finally, a card arrived, informing me of his admission to a field hospital. I breathed a sigh of relief, but just three days later came a letter stating that, since all his superiors were sick, wounded, or had died, he was sent back to the front, still sick. He was so repulsed by the millions of flies in the field hospital that he was actually glad to be sent back to the front. The following days and nights were terrible. I wasted away visibly. My rosy cheeks gave way to deathly pallor. I would kneel and pray for hours every night. Then came a short card, written shakily. I said to my mother at once, only someone critically ill writes like that. A night followed, and then the next afternoon, november tenth, nineteen fourteen, around six o'clock, while I was having coffee with my friend, the maid brought a telegram. My mom tried to take it, but I took it from her, opened it, and read it. I am said to have let out a terrible animal like scream, and then there was silence. In the days and weeks that followed, I tried to numb myself with work. Tormenting nights followed. I had only one longing, to be allowed to die as well. I had managed to procure poison. With that box in my hand, I would often wander at night to my children's little beds, seeking strength from their sweet, sleeping faces. I think I was half mad. Then, one night, in a dream, my bedroom door opened. My beloved came in, opened the drawer of my nightstand, took out the bottle on which clearly read poison, along with the familiar symbol of two crossed human bones beneath a skull. He handed me the bottle and left the room. When I woke up, I was covered in sweat. Was that the sign I'd asked for? And yet I did not do it. For the love of the children and my mother. Getting the second pension added was delayed for months because I couldn't get the military death certificate. When everything was finally settled, I only had 1900 marks a year to live on with two children. Although my father in law helped as much as he could, he was elderly, and I needed to find a job. My only talent was singing. Although I was trained as a concert singer, I had not been practicing for seven years and had become rusty. My beloved uncle agreed to fund me for three years of study, and I began my studies January first. The children just wanted me to smile again. When mother asked Marie what she wanted for Christmas, she replied, I have only one wish to see Mommy smile again. On Christmas, mother gave the children their gifts in the music room, while I, usually so composed, lay in the dining room, flung across the sofa a handkerchief pressed to my mouth to stifle a scream. They showered me with love and gifts, but I didn't want anything. One evening, as I returned from Dusseldorf, dead tired and frozen through, I could tell from my mother's distraught expression that something must have happened. My dear father in law had died. That morning he'd gone into town in high spirits. On the way home he was just about to pay his fare for the tram when he silently slumped backwards and died instantly. Howie had cared for me, sought to soothe my sorrow, and always endeavored to bring me some small joy. Poor children, you were to grow up entirely without male protection. Slowly, female students began to arrive for lessons, though there weren't many, it was still an extra source of income. Many soon became touchingly attached to me and would occasionally bring food, because by that time everything was rationed, prices were soaring, and we needed clothes. I not only managed to make ends meet, but even put aside a tidy sum. Then the hardest part came. My last maid stole from me, and when I couldn't find a replacement, we had to go a year and a half without a maid. All we had was one girl who came by the hour. Imagine what that means in such a large house. So, the big house, my studies, giving lessons, and the raising and care of my children. I stood at the wash tub, spent hours ironing the laundry, managed the central heating all by myself, and traveled to Cologne or Gladbach to give lessons, clock in hand, so to speak, so I might get home half an hour early and help mother. The constant rushing and scrambling was the worst part. Then the hunts for food. One of us was out every day trying to scrounge something up. Poor little Marie, helping during those years, when children usually know nothing but play after school, washing the dishes so often, going out in all kinds of weather to fetch the milk, wearing wooden clogs because the paths were so muddy and we had to save our boots. What a winter of hunger that was. Turnips and more turnips, often twice a day because the potato crop had failed so badly. I would cry when the children would complain of hunger, and I had nothing left to give. How bitter that is for a mother. Once I had the children in bed for the night, I had to do mending. I would often sit until half past ten repairing things, items that we used to give to the poor, but now had to be carefully salvaged and made usable again, amidst the ever worsening fabric shortage. How often mother would take work out of my hands, seeing that my back pain was so severe I didn't know how to sit comfortably. Taking in borders was out of the question. We didn't even know how to fill our own bellies. Little Rosa had started school by then too, our little ray of sunshine, always cheerful and in good spirits. Then something terrible happened. One evening, as I returned home from Dusseldorf, dead tired and frozen through, I could tell from my mother's distraught expression that something must have happened. My dear father in law had died. That morning he'd gone into the town in high spirits. On the way home, just as he was about to pay his fare for the tram, he slumped silently backwards and died instantly. Once again, I was deprived of a loyal pillar of support, and what a tower of strength he had become for me over the years. I loved him like my own father, how he cared for me, sought to soothe my sorrow, and always endeavored to bring me some small joy. A bitterly cold winter followed, with those dreadful journeys to Dusseldorf for music lessons, in unheeded train compartments and on insufficient food. How often, upon my return, mother would take me in her arms and whisper, poor child, my heart aches for you. I often envied my dog, who was allowed to lie in his warm corner, and I dreaded each hour as the next approached. How I suffered from the cold that winter. But my voice was getting better. At first my only goal was to become a good singing teacher, but gradually my teacher insisted more that we should focus on pursuing a public career, on becoming a concert singer. She even suggested I pursue a stage career. Germany sent a peace note to America, and we are waiting for the reply. Everyone wants peace at any cost. Things are going well on the front, but conditions at home are terrible. All the deaths would have been in vain and made for nothing. The demands that America is making would make anyone's blood boil. I worked even harder than before to spare my dear mother as much work as possible, so she wouldn't be overburdened while I was away in Berlin. Mother, dearest, best of mothers, when I think about all the work we did, even helping others, handling the heavy clinkers and the heating system, cutting down trees, sawing through trunks, filling the furnace in the evening, and you, dearest, tied to the stove, day after day. What had become of your hands, once so soft and white? On top of that, the meager diet, only a few grams of fat per person. Oh how the tears would often come, and my little ones begged for a slice of bread, and I couldn't give it to them. Marie, once on her birthday wish list, you wrote one thing a loaf of bread. And truly you got it, half from grandma, half from Aunt Elise and Bremen. Finally, I departed for Berlin to take more singing lessons. What a financial sacrifice that course demanded of me. A friend of my mother was kind enough to offer me hospitality, and what it means to host someone for five weeks in a big city during times like those, I cannot convey. Since I looked quite frail, taking two singing lessons a day with different teachers and going out a lot in the evenings, a cup of tea or broth, an egg, and a slice of buttered bread would be waiting for me in the dressing room after my lesson. She was touchingly kind to me after singing lessons began and constantly urged me to continue my studies. When a gentleman at a house where I was singing told me I absolutely had to give a concert in Berlin, he placed me right alongside our greatest and most important singer. They prophesied a great future for me, saying I had gold in my throat. Oh how intoxicated I was by the thought, how I blessed my decision back then to go to Berlin, a decision I cursed today and everything that followed. That very night I sat down and wrote to mother, how filled she was with pride by the news, calling me nothing but Diva. That was when the decision, the fateful decision, ripened within me. Upon my return I would ask Mother to look after the children for a year, and I believed it would be for our collective good fortune, that I could finally repay my beloved mother for all she'd done for me and the children over the years. But it turned out to be our undoing. When I arrived for the summer holidays, I told Mother of my decision. Yet a chill ran through me when I heard that paying for my studies would mean selling the house I loved so dearly. And it happened sooner than we expected. Air raids on Cologne were increasing, and just after a terrible one, which had claimed countless lives, our house was literally sold overnight. It was listed in Saturday evening, and when I returned on Sunday midday, mother met me at the door with news that our house was sold. Happiness in the hardest days of my life. No longer ours. Surely no house was ever built with more love. My dearest had drafted all the plans. Mother, my dearest, and I had worked on the designs for a whole winter. It was our cherished project. For a whole year we lived and breathed nothing but the construction of the house, and when it finally stood complete, the joy was enough to make one's heart burst. Mother, usually so cautious, had been too hasty. She'd given a verbal promise to the prospective buyers that morning that she would sell them the house, and that she held no formal contract, she felt bound to her word. Everyone who viewed the house was enchanted, and I kept raising my asking price, and we both realized with dismay that we had agreed to part with it far too cheaply. We felt bound by our verbal agreement, only to learn at the notary's office that when the deed was to be drawn up, the verbal agreement was not legally binding. November nineteen eighteen. I had to leave the sanatorium because the children had become too much for my mother to handle. How peaceful everything in Germany had seemed, no one foresaw the sudden collapse of our front lines and the German Reich itself. We'd been shamefully deceived at home, led to believe in a favorable military situation that had long ceased to exist. The army was exhausted, it could go on no longer. The request for an armistice struck like a bolt from the blue, though discontent had long been brewing in the country, and hunger forced us to take that difficult step. Even before the enemy's armistice terms were announced, a revolution broke out in Kiel, sparked by mutinous sailors and spread across the country with lightning speed. Mobs and garrison soldiers roamed the streets, looting and jeering. Prisons and penitentiaries were thrown open, while officers and enlisted men had their shoulder boards torn off and their weapons confiscated. Blood flowed, the government was deposed, a workers and soldiers council was formed, and a master saddler became the imperial chancellor. And so on. Were it not tragic, one could laugh. Our emperor was forced to abdicate, as were the crown prince, the king of Bavaria, Wurttemberg, the Grand Dukes, they all had to take the same step. Then came the armistice terms, so shameful and surely that every German heart bled, and of such unheard of harshness that they could hardly be met. And despite repeated, imploring pleas for leniency, despite the deepest humiliations and petitions, the Allies would not budge in Iota from their demands. Abandoning everything, war material, food supplies for years to come, raw materials, the army had to evacuate enemy territory in wild haste, since all soldiers who had not left France by the set deadline were to be interned. Assets worth billions had to be left behind. On December 5th, the enemy occupation force marched into the Rhineland. Hot tears streamed down my face when I crossed the Rhine for the first time after the announcement. Beautiful Cologne, the magnificent river, perhaps soon to be French, all of us at the mercy of the relentless, cruel enemy. What dreadful times we face. Seventy thousand to eighty thousand men pass through Cologne daily and are billeted there and in the neighboring villages. Our usually quiet little town is swarming with soldiers, resembling a wild military camp. Unreasonable demands are made of us regarding billeting, and how I feel, how my heart bleeds as everyone returns to their loved ones. Yet he, my beloved, will never return, never again. The children, they can't understand it. They are in a state of feverish excitement all day long, hardly leaving the window, unable to comprehend my immeasurable grief, and to be so alone, to have no one to offer advice, to have no one to do something kind, no one to share in these heavy burdens, how bitterly hard that is. What anxieties I endured when the Social Democrats proposed that war bonds be annulled. After all, I'd invested my entire fortune in war bonds, and on the advice of many, fortunately, that proposal was withdrawn. But now a massive new worry looms, since my entire fortune, as well as my mother's, is held in a bank in Cologne. For you, my children, this time is passing without leaving a mark. How enviable it is to still be a child. You are filled with joyful excitement. The officers billeted with us are your delight, especially since they give you cakes, sandwiches, and the like. Once I had seen to my loved ones in the evening and gotten everyone to bed, I would set out in search of an apartment. I made the impossible possible back then. A dear young student would always send word via the child whenever something was available to rent in Vinsburg. That's how I came to find the ill fated apartment where I still live today. When mother was able to go out, I showed her the place. It was brilliant with sunshine, the view from every window was captivating, and so mother too agreed with a plan to take the apartment. The shortcomings only came to light later. Then came the day we moved out. Then followed dreadful days, when I often felt like giving up in despair, trying to fit this large household into that small apartment. I had also sent Mother to Bremen to visit my sister, but unfortunately she returned after only a fortnight. That time away hadn't brought her much rest, nor me either. I traveled to Brennan for two days at my sister's urgent request before returning home. On the very first evening, mother suddenly sank to her knees before me, saying that she would go into ruin in that house without me, that she couldn't live without me at all, and the very idea of my going to Berlin was out of the question. I sat there frozen. All those sacrifices had been made in vain. The delightful house lost forever, everything over just as I was nearing the end of my studies. I couldn't grasp it. All those arduous years behind me, during which I had repeatedly gritted my teeth for the sake of the goal that beckoned. It was terrible. I asked Mother, who was terribly agitated, to calm down. I suggested staying with her until January. Perhaps she would have settled in by then, but she wouldn't let up and insisted I promise to give up my artistic career. The night that followed for me, and the next morning I gave her that promise, for I saw that I was dealing with a sick woman. Her insomnia was frightening. Even the strongest sleeping powder no longer helped. In mother's apathy, she took an interest in nothing, and she spoke hardly at all, and when she did, she only lamented the apartment, which stood in such stark contrast to our enchanting home. Had we found a nice modern apartment with up to date amenities, the beloved woman might still be alive today. The unbearable smell in the building, the non flushing toilets, no gas or electric light, carbide lamps, had to be acquired before one could become accustomed to the foul odor. I was still walking around in a daze. From then on, mother went into rapid decline. She'd lost the will to live. She, the very embodiment of willpower and drive, a woman animated by a burning love for life, spoke only of how she might depart from this world. She was determined to persuade me to join her in death, insisting that we both fully and completely fulfilled our duties in life. When I replied, What about my poor children? She said, Oh, they'll manage. Other children grow up without parents too. And these words came from the lips of my mother, a woman who had always placed duty above all else. She must have been gravely ill. On top of that, the poor soul suffered from heart palpitations day and night, so severe that her whole body shook. I dared not leave mother alone, the fear, I will say no more about it. In my utter desperation, I telegraphed Bremen, asking my brother in law to come and fetch Mother to take her to the sanatorium. I planned to place the children with my mother in law once I had sorted out Mother's belongings, and then follow after, for my own strength was failing too. My brother-in-law arrived the next day, I'd already packed everything for mother, who kept begging me to let her stay. She absolutely refused to leave, that I could no longer bear the responsibility alone. The following day, he departed with mother, and as the children embraced her, I knew they would never see her again. Three days later, early in the morning, my sister brought me a telegram, stating that our beloved mother had succumbed to a heart attack. She was one of the most righteous people who ever lived, possessing such selfish kindness and capacity for sacrifice, always putting herself in the background, living only for her family, loved and revered by high and low alike. We had the body cremated and at my sister's request, the urn was interred in her husband's family vault. Then my sister took me to the sanatorium where I wrote the beginning of this book.