A celebration of a quite different kind followed. As I reported to Hauptmann Brandt, the battalion commander, a colonel by the name of Werner was also present. I knew the latter from the Hindenburg-Hof. He was head of the army film unit that had moved from Berlin and had for some time been stationed in Schweidnitz. He had his quarters, as befitted his rank, in Kammrau, the estate of Count Kayserling located about eight miles from Schweidnitz. Werner informed me that on the following Saturday a birthday celebration was taking place for his granddaughter. They were one gentleman short, so I was to take that place. I then learnt they had been keeping their eyes open for a socially skilled young officer and had lighted on me.
It was to be an interesting experience. Until then I had never been in a house of the nobility of the eastern Elbe. Oberst Werner took me with him on the Saturday afternoon in his service car. Kammrau was a little village within the estate. It consisted of several farm buildings and a small castle. The lord of the manor was, if I remember correctly, a nephew of the philosopher Kayserling. The family was from the Baltic nobility and the Count himself had been a Chamberlain of Kaiser Wilhelm II.
I remember a series of interconnecting rooms, the last of which was the Count’s study. All the rooms were tastefully and in some cases opulently furnished. There were many pictures, paintings and photographs with dedications, especially portraits of his Majesty. The Count, to whom I was only briefly introduced, was somewhat small and had a bald patch. He had the air of a private scholar and not of the owner of an estate. The dominant personality in the house was perhaps the 70 years old Countess who involved me in a lengthy conversation. She radiated a natural nobility. Of the other guests, with the exception of Oberst Werner, I have no recollection, but I do recall the younger people.
First there was the birthday girl who had just reached the age of 25, Baroness Viola von Richthofen. Her brother was a Leutnant of Reserve in an infantry uniform. He had lost a kidney as a result of being wounded. The father of young Richthofen was Lothar von Richthofen, brother of the famous Manfred, the red fighter pilot. He too was a fighter pilot holding the Pour Le Mérite. He had met his death in about 1930 as a civilian pilot. He had married the daughter of the house in which the two grandchildren grew up. Viola was a Red Cross sister in a Breslau military hospital. Blonde and blue-eyed, she was friendly, natural and almost maternal.
It appeared that her friend was a Fräulein von Garnesse, from a Huguenot family. Reddish blonde, particularly slim and tall was a Bezigna von Rohr, an uncomplicated young lady from the country nobility and the opposite of the governess type of Fräulein von Garnesse. The youngest was a Fräulein von Karlowitz, full of life and very pretty. She soon told me that her brother was a Panzer Oberleutnant from the Sagan regiment and was by then in Baden near Vienna. Of the young men, in addition to the Richthofen grandson, there was a commoner school friend, who had had infantile paralysis and thus was not fit for military service. Nevertheless he wore his disabled sports badge with pride. Then there was also the signals unit Oberleutnant, ‘Conny’ von Falkenhausen. He was perhaps 25 years old, with long hair slicked down, which, together with his general appearance gave him the dashing air of a greyhound.
Of course it was part of the visit to have a look round the stables and the farm buildings and to walk through the nearby estate area. There was a little castle pond, with water-lilies floating on it. The conversation was free and easy and lively. It turned out that a room had been prepared for me to spend the night, provided with a toothbrush, naturally! In the absence of a special invitation, I had not brought one with me. Before dinner we gathered in the drawing rooms for an aperitif and when the gong sounded, we went in to dinner. To celebrate the birthday the ladies were escorted to the table. A gentleman had to bow to the nearest lady and offer her his arm. The table was round and big enough for 12 people to be seated round it fairly comfortably. The dishes were of wartime fare and thoroughly ‘unaristocratic’. They were brought, by means of a lift, from the kitchen in the undercroft of the house, then placed on a revolving platform in the middle of the table. The revolving table meant that the need to pass dishes round was avoided.
For us young people it was a jolly evening which lasted far into the night. I could tolerate a great deal in those years of my youth. There was never any danger of losing my composure, and I don’t recall ever having had the need to excuse myself. In that way I passed the evening with great pleasure. Next morning I was at my place at the proper time for breakfast. Breakfast was taken en famille at the round table and afterwards I made a move to get back again to Schweidnitz. Count Kayserling wanted to put a Landau at my disposal so that the coachman could take me to Schweidnitz. However, I politely declined, with thanks. I had a real need for physical activity and looked forward to the brisk walk along the quiet country road on that beautiful May Sunday. I arranged it so that I arrived at the officers’ mess just in time for lunch. On the way, I went over the impressions of the previous day and looked forward to the coming week and also to seeing Gisela.
Several times after lunch in the officers’ mess I had sought out a cafe in the town square. There I had noticed grammar school girls, so easily recognisable by their school bags and by the topics of the conversations they had. It was not yet three years since I myself had been going to grammar school, and it gave me pleasure to watch the gaggle of girls. One of them particularly appealed to me, and I soon fell for her. She was just 17, had brown hair and a lovely open face, merry yet serious. Of course I did not know who she was, nor how I should approach her. I often posted myself on my bicycle near to the school at times when I thought lessons were finishing and I actually succeeded in seeing her several times and to notice that she had also noticed me. She wore her thick hair over her forehead, eye and cheek and would fling it back as a foal shakes his mane in a gallop. The gesture pleased me more than I can say and at the same time imprinted itself unforgettably on my memory. Her eyes were a mixture of brown, grey and green, and had a dark black rim. To me they spoke of fathomless depths, undreamt of sweetness, and measureless goodness and warmth of heart.
It was on the evening of 9 May when, through a fortunate coincidence, I was able to speak to her under touchingly memorable circumstances. I had passed the Friedenskirche, which had once been built in thanksgiving for the end of the Thirty Years War. The extensive, spacious half-timbered building was surrounded by old limes, whose first green shoots were just coming out. There in a park-like forecourt and the adjacent cemetery I felt the mood of the evening, a wistfulness and longing that was especially strong. I entered the church, from which chords of a chorale were ringing out. In an effort not to disturb the congregation, I did not look for a seat, but leaned up against a pillar. In doing so my gaze turned to a girl whom I recognised as Gisela. She had bowed her head and folded her hands, and I was surprised to see her there. It turned out she had been at the grave of her mother, who had died a few days after she was born. While the service was still going on she left the church and I followed her at a respectful distance. I saw her stop at a grave, the grave of her mother, and only when she had walked on and neared the cemetery gate, did I walk up to her and speak to her. She turned her great eyes upon me. Out of them there spoke seriousness, surprise, and, as it seemed to me, a gentle reproach. But perhaps I only felt this because I felt like an interloper.