At the beginning of 1939, my parents decided that my switch to the school in Eger should not be delayed any longer. For some time they had also spoken of sending Erika abroad to complete her schooling and it seemed to be a good idea that she and I should be within reasonable visiting distance of one another. It was arranged that I should enter my new school for the spring term. Erika was to go to a “finishing school” in Bad Harzburg, a spa in central Germany. To help us over the move, my mother was to accompany us and to remain until we had both settled down. I can give no clear reason why my parents sent us to school in Germany in the spring of 1939, of all times, apparently without any apprehension about the political storm gathering over Europe. They must have felt confident that Hitler would ensure that all German-speaking people in the Sudetenland would have full security. Since I had been geared up for the school in Eger, and had already been kept in Carlow longer than planned, it seemed that the move should be delayed no longer. It was probably assumed that Erika would be safe in Germany anyway. My parents might also have expected that we could get back home at short notice if necessary.
Whatever the reason was, we set off for Germany just after Easter. We were booked on the American cruise ship Manhattan from Cobh to Hamburg. Since the ship was too large to berth in the harbour of Cobh, all passengers had to go out to it by tender. My father came out onto the ship with us and there we said our goodbyes. We all put on a brave front at this, the first big parting in our life. Erika was now just over sixteen years of age and I was twelve.
2
STRANDED IN GERMANY
Our trip from Cobh to Hamburg took three days and included stops in Southampton and Le Havre. After swinging into the estuary of the river Elbe, the ship had to travel a further fifty miles before it reached the docking area in Hamburg. There was much to be seen and I spent the rest of the journey running from side to side of the ship so that I would miss nothing. Some two hours after entering the estuary, the Manhattan tied up at its berth. A new stage in my life had begun.
In due course, we set off by train for Karlsbad. My mother was to live in Aunt Hella’s house while she went about getting me settled in Eger and Erika in Bad Harzburg. It was a long day’s journey to Karlsbad, but Erica and I were used to travelling over much longer distances. Of course, the high standard of catering provided on continental main-line trains went a long way toward making tedious journeys more pleasant.
When we arrived in Karlsbad, my aunt was at the station and greeted us bubbling over with excitement. A surprise awaited us when got a taxi and I saw that it was not a motor car, but the customary horse-drawn carriage. Aunt Hella explained that all motorised traffic, including public transport, was banned from the centre of the town so that pollution and unnecessary noise were eliminated.
I was amazed at the quietness of our ride. The reason for this was that the roads were paved with wooden setts which muffled the sound of the horse’s hooves. Soon I saw similar carriages, called Fiaker, everywhere, as they bowled along silently on their rubber-lined wheels while only the muted clip-clop of the horses’ hooves could be heard.
Riding through Karlsbad, it struck me how beautifully the town was kept. Old buildings were perfectly preserved and window-boxes could be seen everywhere. My aunt lived in a detached villa in the suburb of Dönitz which bordered on extensive woodlands. I was delighted to discover that Uncle Anton was a man with a dry humour who always had a twinkle in his eye when he spoke. He had recently retired as professor of science in a third-level college in Eger.
The next day I packed all my essential belongings into a suitcase and left with my mother for Eger. Our first call there was to the students’ hostel, the Morawetzer Schülerheim, a large and attractive building in the suburbs with a big garden at the front and a hard-surface playground behind. It had accommodation for 200 boys in ten dormitories. Half-board was provided during the week and full-board on weekends for those who required it. After meeting the director, my mother and I set off to visit my new school.
The Realgymnasium was not much more than half a mile away so we decided to walk. A pleasant downhill stroll to a bridge over the river Eger soon brought us to the somewhat forbidding-looking entrance of my school. The principal, a tall and pleasant man, showed us around some of the classrooms and then gave me instructions regarding the following morning, which was the start of the new school term. Our final task was to purchase a bicycle that I could use in Eger and for trips further afield. After my mother had taken the bus to Karlsbad, I felt sad over the parting, but this feeling soon gave way to an excited anticipation and a sense of freedom as I set off for the students’ hostel on my bike.
That evening I had the unaccustomed experience of finding myself among a huge number of fellow-students. Shy by nature, I expected other boys to speak to me, but they all seemed to know each other and mainly ignored me. When I went to bed later on, the stark appearance of the dormitory did little to alleviate my sense of loneliness and the novelty of sleeping on an upper bunk-bed was the only diversion that captured my interest.
The following morning I awoke in a more optimistic frame of mind. It was a day of beautiful sunshine which made everything appear in a much more promising light and, as I cycled to school, I felt invigorated by the fresh morning air. During classes I had another boost to my self-assurance. I had no trouble following the lessons and felt grateful to my parents for preparing me so well. What immediately struck me about my fellow-students was how hard they worked and with what grim determination they applied themselves, as if their very life depended on it. After successfully completing my first day in school, I managed to get talking to some of my co-residents in the Morawetzer hostel, but my overtures were met with a cool indifference and I did not feel at home in their company.
Over the next few days I began to explore the town and neighbourhood by bicycle. Eger was a beautifully preserved mediaeval town of about 40,000 inhabitants and every building in the attractive town centre was of timber-frame construction. The town had a rich history, particularly in the days of General Wallenstein, a member of the Bohemian aristocracy, who figured prominently in the Thirty Years War. The magnificent castle in which Wallenstein had lived was just off my way to school; it had been perfectly restored and I was able to visit it on a few occasions.
Since the hostel was on the outskirts of Eger, it took me only minutes to reach the open countryside. The roads were smoothly paved with tarmacadam and, in the absence of much traffic, it was a joy to bowl along them on those mild spring evenings. I exulted in the feeling of freedom that my cycle rides gave me and they compensated me for the slight feelings of claustrophobia that I had experienced since arriving in Eger.
Although I had come to Eger without any preconceived notions, I soon found myself beginning to compare my fellow students with those in Brünn, even though there was an absence of Czech facial features or Czech-sounding names. However, there must have been some characteristic traits that I sensed as alien and, just as in Brünn, I felt that I did not belong there. The lack of social contact in school did not bother me as much as the fact that it was no better in the hostel. There was only one boy who displayed any friendliness towards me. His name was Horst Zain and he was in the habit of borrowing my bicycle, so I did not think that ours was a very sincere friendship.