Killer Instinct

The school bell rang. The school was over for the weekend. The children shouted with delight, throw their books and pencil cases into the brown school-cases where they joined the rest of the school lunches and assorted collectables, that were exchanged during recess. Jack dropped his case and the content spilled all over the floor. Other children did
not stop and stepped on his belongings.

“Stupid Jack,” he heard Charlie Walters scream and stomping on Jack’s sandwich box, squashing it totally. Only Mary Henderson stopped for a second after she broke his HB pencil and said under her breath, ”Sorry. Jack” and then she  was out of the door too.
The teacher, Miss Jones, gathered her things and observed how Jack was coping.
“You had some bad luck., Jack?”
“I’m all right, Miss. I’m out of here in a sec,” Jack said, shut his case and run towards the door nearly running into Miss Jones. She only shook her head.

“I hope,” Jack thought, ”nobody will see me with teacher alone in the classroom. They would think I want to be teacher’s pet.” But nobody saw him. Everyone was gone and the school yard was empty.
Outside the gate Jack slowed down and as he looked across the road he saw Charlie pushing another boy from Year 4 around. Jack did not want to know and headed home, where Mum always had a glass of milk and a cookie waiting for him. He ran along the footpath and then across the road towards a large undeveloped parcel of land, which all the children called ‘The Forest’, because they could play there and pretend to be in the bush, Sherwood Forest, or in Africa as big game hunters. Once he had seen a Green Tree Snake. There were rabbits and even a Goanna had been sighted. And there were Lorikeets‚, Cockatoos and Kookaburras. In September the children had to watch out for diving Magpies. The undergrowth was cinder dry after a long, dry spell. Dry leaves and sticks were thick on the ground. Older people always warned of the danger of bush fires as the council had no money for controlled burning.
Jack picked up a short stick and started to run again, still trying to find a purpose for the stick. He saw a Peewee prepare to land nearby. Before it had time to fold away its wings Jack throw the stick, like a Mexican knife, towards the unsuspecting bird. For the first time in his life he did not miss his target.
“Yes,” Jack called out and raised his fist in triumph. The stick hit the bird on the wing. It tried to lift off again; but couldn’t. It hopped away with the injured wing still partly outstretched. The instinct told the Peewee to hide under some bushes. Jacks eyes were now fixed on the unlucky bird. The white patches in its feathers could easily be spotted.
Jack ran into bushes, dropped his school case and bent down to crawl under some
branches. He noticed that the ground was alive with ants and other creepy crawlies. He was not afraid, not now. Something unknown spurned him on.
“I must catch up with the Peewee and kill it,” he said to himself. Grandpa had told him, that a good hunter never lets a wounded animal get away. It will die a horrible death unless the hunter gives it the death blow. That is what he had to do, he thought. As he came closer, the bird  hopped further but got tangled up with some branches. It slowed down
and Jack was able to get closer. Jack picked up another stick and hit out at the bird. He missed and the frightened
bird jumped up. The stretched out wing was a real nuisance and got caught in the dry undergrowth.  It was exhausted and turned its head towards Jack who had reached it within striking distance. Jack lashed out as hard as he could and caught the bird on its back, breaking it. Jack struck it again, this time near the head.

The Peewee who only minutes ago swooped down to pick up a large bug was now dead and some hungry nestlings were waiting for their mother.

Jack straightened himself up and took a deep breath. He was hot and when he wiped sweat off his forehead he noticed some blood on his hand. The hands and arms had scratches too. He looked at the dead bird, did not know what to do next. Ants were crawling already over the body. Slowly, Jack pushed some dead leaves with his feet over it.
With his handkerchief he tried to stop the bleeding above his brow. In his rush he had not noticed how he got those scratches. Now they started to burn. The sun seemed especially hot now. He was very thirsty.
Jack found his way back where he had left his school case. At first he walked but then he started to run. He wanted to get home and tell his Mum. He raced around the house to the back door and pulled open the screen door, shouting, “Mum, Mum, I did something terrible!”

“Again?” his Mum asked. “What is it this time, Jack?”

“Mum I killed a bird.; a Peewee!”

“How did you do that?”
“I didn’t mean to, Mum. How did I know that I’d hit it with that stick?”
“I told you many times not to linger on the way home. Go and wash your hands.”
Only then did she see the mess he was in. Blood was trickling from his forehead.
“Did you have to fight the poor bird?” she asked but did not wait for an answer.
“Get ready for tea. Dad will be home soon and we’ll have chicken tonight.”
“Chicken?” Jack called out from the bathroom, “I won’t eat any dead bird tonight,
Mum!”

Despite being under the hot shower he started to shiver. He did not eat much that
evening, only the desert. Later, when he was in bed he swore to himself never to go
hunting again. Never, ever.
“It is so stupid to kill an animal,” he thought before he fell asleep for a restless night.
He was fighting off giant  birds in his dreams.

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The Beginnings in the Land of Peace

Having been sent away from Berlin I did not know what to expect. Life outside my home was a big, unknown territory.

My life had consisted more or less of family life. It was not, what some would classify a happy one. When my mother was especially exasperated with me and my antics, she threatened that she would send me to a home for maladjusted children. I wondered whether this was what she had done by sending me so far away –

What I experienced in Friedland happened seventy years ago. Some things I have probably forgotten; some other memories are hazy, while for a great part I have vivid memories.

After my first night I was led, along the road, to the building that housed the Knabenheim Bethesda (Boys Home Bethesda). It was still during the Christmas school break and the children were all at the home and greeted me on the scale of feigned disinterest to genuine curiosity. Half of the boys were Berliners, the others were Silesians. The genuine ones were the Berliners. They welcomed me and wanted to hear news form their home city. They all wanted to know where the bombs had fallen lately.

It turned out we all had to go to a funeral on that very day. Only a few days before, one of the boys had passed away. That was the reason for the vacancy; I realised! When the staff showed me the bed I was to occupy, a howl went up among the boys and they all screamed I had to sleep in the very same bed in which the boy had died. His ghost will get me, that was for sure. At that stage I was not afraid of death, as I believed children would go straight to heaven and that could only be better than life here on Earth.

It wasn’t far to the cemetery, only a few hundred meters and we all walked there. The dead boy’s parents had come for the funeral. What sticks to my mind is, that the mother screamed like a wounded person when the white coffin was lowered into the open earth. Her pain could not be overheard. I was wondering whether my mother would cry for me. I doubted it very much.

Later, during the afternoon, back at the home two big Silesian boys, made their move. When I say, big, then I mean for an eight year old fourteen year old boys are practically grown-ups. Somehow they had become aware that I had fifty Pfennig coins that my mother had given me at the train station. I probably played with the coins in all innocence and wondered how, and what for, I could spend them on.

They were two brothers, working just like a tag team, who pointed out to me, that it was no good showing my wealth for all to see. There are really some bad boys in the home who would not hesitate to steal that money from me. Therefore, they suggested, in all friendship, they could protect me from that fate, if I paid them each a coin. Who wants to be robbed or even beaten when one can have peace for a small price. Their logic was impeccable to my young mind and I gave them each a coin and even thanked them.

This procedure was repeated during the next few days and soon most of my money was gone, without having had the opportunity to buy something “nice”, as my mother had framed it. When the coins became fewer I had the sinking feeling that money doesn’t make people happy at all, because I wasn’t happy. Before I gave up the last coin the boys had to give me a punch into my ribs to reinforce their arguments. I understood and after all the money was gone I had peace of mind. The two brothers never bothered me again.

In the evening of the first day one of the carers came up to me and told me it was time to write a card to my mother and letting her know how I was. I was sitting in front of the card and did not know what to write. I was not happy and did not want to tell my mother how sad and miserable I felt. When the carer noticed my inactivity she came up and started to dictate what I had to write down. She said,” Write, ‘Dear Mutti, I have arrived here and I’m very well!’ “. When I heard this tears welled up, because I never called my mother, Mutti. She would know straight away, the card was a fake. I always called her “Mama”.

The first night I was a bit fearful of the dead boy. The weekend was ahead of us. It was the last weekend of the Christmas Holidays. On Monday school would start.

My First Railway Journey Part II

When the train started to move, Frau Fischer opened the compartment window and said,

“Have a look whether you can still see your mother. I’m certain she is waving.”

The war ravaged Görlitzer Bahnhof. My train left from the platform on the far right along the wall. Even from this photo one can get an idea of the beautiful architecture.

The war ravaged Görlitzer Bahnhof. My train left from the platform on the far right along the wall. Even from this photo one can get an idea of the beautiful architecture.

I did not see her and it saddened me. We had gone too far. People on the platform and steam from our train blocked my view. Almost without sound the train glided out of the huge station hall. From time to time there was a little jolt when the carriage went with a “clickety, clack” over a set of points. The tall yard lights were standing between the train tracks and shone onto the rails. I was wondering whether the light would stay on during an air raid. We could hear the  whistle of the locomotive as the train slowly picked up speed.

We crossed a canal, passed under a bridge of the Ringbahn  (Circular City Rail)  and got further away from the city. I pressed my nose against the cold window to see as much as possible in the dark. Soon we were travelling beside a suburban electric train (S-Bahn) which our country train, becoming faster and faster,  slowly overtook and left behind because the train had to stop at a local station. I could see sleepy passengers in the suburban train. I felt sad, as I thought, it might be the last time I would see all this. I had no idea what the future was holding for me.

Despite this, I felt peckish from all this new and unique  travel experience and unwrapped a “Stulle” ( a sandwich) which my mother had given me to eat on the trrain.  There was Teewurst  on the sandwich, which was my favourite. I had no idea how long the train trip would take and when I would get something to eat again. Eight-year olds are not known for will power; especially when it comes to tasty food. Still, I did not eat all and saved a bit for later.

The train was heading in a south-easterly direction. The first light of the rising Sun was visible on the horizon. Shortly before Königswusterhausen I saw  the  last  S-Bahn. From now on Berlin lay behind us and we where travelling through the Mark Brandenburg.

Whilst the night gave way to  daylight  the train stopped at Cottbus and Spremberg. Nowhere did the train stop for long. Doors were shut loudly and the station staff called out loud, sharp commands and soon enough the train was on the way again to the next stop. For a more seasoned traveller the journey could have been boring, but not for me. There was so much to be seen. The telegraph wires flew beside the train down from one post and swung  up to the next one.

Frau Fischer did not talk  much to me. She was reading in a book, looking up from time to time. She must have been happy to be away from Berlin for two days, escaping the air raids. Any other time she would have been sitting in her office, waiting for the sound of the early warning system.

“Are you looking forward to your new home and the many friends you will make?” she asked at one stage. I only shook my head, indicating, “No”. I did not feel like getting to know other children. And who knows what kind of food they would be  dishing out there.

It depressed me very much, thinking I could not see my Mum any more. I thought back to a school vacation,  when I stayed with the wife of a war comrade of my  father. She lived in Adlershof, a suburb of Berlin. I stayed with her for a whole week and I enjoyed it tremendously as she spoilt me with beautiful food. Every day  I got stewed fruit as desert. She lived in her own house with a large garden containing many fruit trees. That was heaven for a boy used to live in a courtyard building.

Our apartment on the ground floor right in the centre of the picture. There was no greenery then.

Our apartment was on the ground floor,  in the corner, right in the centre of the picture. There was no greenery then.

In the train it was comfortable warm and I avoided, for a long time,  going to the toilet, because it was outside.  But the moment arrived when this could not be avoided any longer. And after the Frau Fischer showed me the way I went reluctantly. What shock I received when I lifted the cover of the toilet seat and saw straight to the track and the railway sleepers. The sleepers were passing underneath so fast that I was afraid. There was a draft and I felt I could be sucked into  the toilet bowl and straight onto the track. And while peeing, the toilet bowl seemed to shift position.

“Everything all right?” asked my companion when I returned. I could only nick my head. She must have thought I’m too lazy to speak. The next larger station was Görlitz;  the town after which the station in Berlin was named.  The train stopped there  longer than at other places.

I watched the going-ons on the platform. I could could not get enough of it. People were hurrying to their carriages or to the exit. I saw people hugging and greeting each other. Some were seeing others off. I could see a few soldiers. One was on crutches and was assisted by a Red Cross nurse.

Of course, there was a war on and I was happy that from now on my sleep would not be interrupted by the air-raid sirens.

The train continued its journey.  Despite the cold outside it was pretty warm in our compartment. Suddenly we could hear the train whistle and the train hurtled into a tunnel and filling it with its steam and smoke.

For a short period it was was pitch-black.  The hard working piston of the steam engine became much louder and some of the smoke filled even the compartment.

Suddenly we came out of the tunnel and bright light filled our compartment. I  looked for the reason for  this enormous brightness. It was snow! There was snow everywhere. It was a new experience for me. Before the tunnel there was no snow and then after the tunnel this glistening light caused by the snow. I was happy now.

What I had yearned for all winter, was suddenly here. Every morning, full of expectations, I had jumped out of  bed, rushed to the window to see whether snow had fallen during the night. I decided to like Silesia after all, because it seems to have lots of snow in winter.

Immediately after the tunnel the train slowed down and came to a halt. The large signs told me we were in “Hirschberg“.  Today this beautiful town is in Poland and it is called, Jelenia Góra

The modern Jelenia Góra

The modern Jelenia Góra

We had arrived at ” the  mountains of the giants” (Riesengebirge). I was  immediately thinking  of Rübezahl,  the giant of folklore and numerous tales. But I could see no giant.  There was a large coke works beside the station. Not that I knew at the time what it was, but I could see the long battery of the coke oven with its many compartments in which something hot was glowing. A machine drove up and down and stopped at one compartment and hot coke fell into a wagon. Everywhere was steam and clouds of smoke. I was fascinated, as I had never seen anything like it. I had no idea what it was, what I saw. It looked pretty hellish to me.

There was not much time to wonder. After only a couple of minutes our train moved on again, soon speeding through the snow covered landscape. I started to munch on my last sandwich. At times the locomotive had to work harder when we went up some mountains. Then the pistons had to work a bit harder.

It was winter and naturally the days were not very long. Dusk was setting in. Soon it was stark dark outside. When I tried to look outside I saw nothing but the mirror image of our compartment. I even could see Frau Fischer  as she read her book. She must have noted me starring at her in the window.  She got up and shut the curtains over the window.  She said to me in a soft voice, “We’ll get off soon and still have to walk for about an hour before we are there.”

I think she did not want to scare me, but I was alarmed. Never in my life had I been walking for a whole hour. The longest walk I could remember was the way from a suburban railway station to the beach at Wannsee.  I hated that walk because it made me thirsty and my mother never stopped at the beer garden , which was right at half way, for a drink of lemonade. We were lucky that there was a water bubbler at the station. On our way back in late afternoon we rushed to it. Of course, my oldest sister always drank first. If I was able to reach the bubbler first or I came too close to her, she would  give me a well directed kick, with her elbow, into my ribs.

Frau Fischer put her coat on and helped me into mine. The train stopped. She took our luggage from the rack and we walked to the door. It seemed to me we were standing in the middle of nowhere. I could see no station building or any platform. We had to climb down two steps before we reached the snow covered ground. If there was anything, I am sure I did not see it. The loco blew its whistle as if she wanted to say, “Good bye,” and the train disappeared. We were standing in the dark. Then I heard my companion  say, “Well, lets start – and if we don’t hurry up we’ll miss out on supper!”

I was hungry already and for sure would not like to miss out on supper. She knew the way and  had done the same trip with other children. We soon were in the middle of a forest. The snow crunched under our shoes. Slowly, I got used to the dark and was able to see where we were going.  Sometimes my escort gave me a warning. Otherwise she was quiet. I did not dare saying a single syllable to her. We stomped towards our destination, which should have been somewhere beyond the dark, dense wall of trees. Slowly and softly it began to snow.

After, what appeared to me to be a long, long time, I could spot some lights through the forest. We must be getting closer to the town or village.

“This is Friedland,” (today KorfantówI heard her voice in the dark, “It won’t be long now.”

“Lucky me,” I thought, because I was starving, thirsty and tired. Friedland was a small town with single story houses only. A few street lights were shining.  We could see no other people in the streets. I was thinking of a Christmas poem, “Markt und Strassen stehen verlassen…” (in English and German)

We turned a few corners and were suddenly standing in front of a villa. The lady pushed a door bell. An old woman in a long frock opened the door.

“There you are Frau Fischer,” she said, “and the young man from Berlin you brought along. We have been worried about you and how you’ll find your way through the snowed-in forest.” She took my suit case off Frau Fischer and asked us inside.

“It is best, you come straight through to the kitchen,” said the old woman and opened a door that led from the hallway to a huge kitchen. There, a second woman was busy cleaning  a large stove. The first woman turned to me and said, “The other children are all asleep and you will get to see them tomorrow. Tonight, you will sleep in here.” She pointed to a room behind a glass partition and begged me to come to a  table in the kitchen.

“You must be hungry after the long train trip. You will get a Schnitte and then it is straight to bed.”

I had never heard the word “Schnitte” in my life and learnt later that it was the local term for a open sandwich.  I was wondering what it could be and feared if I couldn’t eat it, I would go to bed hungry.  I didn’t need to worry at all. It turned out to be a large slice of bread with liverwurst and a cup of peppermint tea. Just the same as in the hospital years ago.

Frau Fischer wished me  “Good Night!” and left the kitchen. I never saw my train companion again.

When I had finished eating the old woman led me into the small room. Except for a bed there was no furniture there.

Later, when I was in  bed and the lights were switched off in my room, I could see through the glass partition into the well lit kitchen.  The two women were still busy cleaning. I was wondering how my life would continue here. I put my thumb into my mouth to suck on it, as I was used to, before falling  asleep. But as I started to suck the thought came to me, that the time had come to stop this childish habit. I was eight years old and could imagine what the other boys would say to me if they found out I was still sucking my thumb. My mother and my great-aunt tried for a long time to rid me of this habit. The time had come and I found I could get to sleep without it.  Tiredness overcame me quickly and I fell into a deep sleep. Later I dreamt of a train huffing and puffing through a white, winter landscape. The locomotive was  trailing  a long white cloud of steam.

 

 Winter-Landscape-Train-of-Harz-Narrow-Gauge-Railways-Germany