We were escorted to our room, which was so large that we were almost got lost while walking from one end to the other. Our first — but very unromantic — impression of Heidelberg was one of blessed comfort! The room actually had heat! We clung to the radiator in delight. In no other place during this trip has that extraordinary phenomenon occurred. There is a balcony off our room from which we gazed down upon the brightly illumined river. The Neckar peacefully flowed under the old bridges. It was fortunate that we saw the beauty of the town by night, for the next morning it was pouring rain! Again, we gave thanks for the heat. Rain or no rain, we wandered all over the town and environs, visiting the famous Heidelberg Castle. This huge building has been the victim of wars, fires — even a lightning bolt — yet is still an overwhelming sight. The rain somewhat dampened the romantic effect, but we called upon our ever-ready imaginations. We are in such a quiet hotel, and would love to stay here a week!
Date: September 6, 1938
Place: Heidelberg to Nuremberg
Weather: Rain except at night.
TIMELINE, September 6-12: — (Nuremberg Rally) Hitler demands right of self-determination for the Sudetenland Germans.
Last night this place was so quiet that Margy and I slept as though we had been drugged. The hotel manager arranged for us to join a morning bus tour of the city. Although it was pouring, we managed to see quite a bit of the town, the University of Heidelberg, the odd road signs and the headquarters of the Student Prince. We journeyed alongside the Neckar River to the picturesque castle, which is now the home to concerts. Margy and I left the tour party at the castle and wandered back over to our hotel. There was just enough time for a hurried luncheon before we headed for the railway station. My train was to depart for Nuremberg at 2:00 p.m. and her train was leaving for Freiberg at 2:30 p.m. This was the scene of our planned parting, which prompted many hugs, well wishes, and quite a few tears. Margy will travel down through the Black Forest to Switzerland. She will then return to Paris and sail home on the Queen Mary. I felt terrible after leaving her and matters did not improve one bit.
In my train compartment sat four German soldiers, with poor little Helen squeezed into one corner! I was petrified because I thought all German soldiers were monsters or something. I was reluctant to move about, or even attempt to speak. The combination of being surrounded by soldiers in a smoke-filled compartment, and feeling bombarded with a constant flurry of German words, made me queasy — and things did not improve! They never ran out of things to say! The soldier right next to me used the ashtray between us continually, letting his cigarette stub just sit there and burn. Upon arrival at the station in Nuremberg, I struggled to bring down my heavy suitcase but not one of them offered to help me! I was quite disgusted, still feeling a bit light-headed, and looking forward to getting some fresh air.
I departed the train amidst a swarm of military uniforms and managed to acquire a porter who hoisted my suitcase and carried it on his back. One could hardly walk in a straight line, as the street was filled with groups of soldiers, who were going in every direction. My suitcase-toting porter led me through the thronging crowds of men, to the Wittelsbach Hotel. I feared we would be separated, so I struggled to keep him constantly in sight! Upon arrival in the hotel lobby, I received some devastating news! After the porter had dumped my suitcase and left, the desk man said that they had no place for me to stay! He said that they had notified my travel agency that there would be no room for me! I was completely flabbergasted! This was my first night without Margy, and I might have to sleep on a park bench!
While in Paris, I heard a rumor that Nuremberg hotels were turning people away if they were not on official business — even if they were offered large sums of money. That news had prompted me to check with the tourist office, where I was assured that the reservation was intact! Imagine my consternation! Judging by how many people were in town, I doubted that even a park bench would be available.
The desk clerk informed me that this was the beginning of the annual Nazi Party Rally. I just stood there aghast, hoping that somehow he would take pity on me and try to help. He picked up the phone and made a sincere effort to find a room in town, to no avail. When I felt I was about to collapse, he smiled slyly, pointed his finger upward, and said that he had a tiny room in the attic that was seldom used, but I could have it. I was so relieved! All I wanted at that point was a bed and a roof over my head!
The drab little attic room was freezing cold and had no running water — just a bowl and some ice-cold water in a pitcher! There was one window, which measured about one foot by two feet. It felt like I was imprisoned in one of those castle dungeons we had toured. However, I did have a roof over my head and I was not about to make any complaints to the desk. Instead of my hoped-for park bench, there was a bed, so I proceeded to flop down on it, and have a good cry. Thereupon, I felt much better! Isn’t that feminine psychology for you? It appears that every time I get into a jam, somehow the situation turns out to be particularly exciting or interesting. Little did I know what lay ahead.
After I dried my eyes and powdered my face, I went downstairs to eat in the Bierstube. Like most places I had seen in Nuremberg, it was filled to the walls with soldiers. I crept to a small, unoccupied table in a dim corner of the room, and managed to get something to eat. Glancing cautiously around, I noticed that all of the other tables were occupied. Just then, a rotund German man holding a newspaper sat down with me. After we exchanged a few words, he decided his newspaper was more interesting than I was, so he hid behind it and continued to read. That was just fine with me, and I concentrated on my dinner.
Fortunately, he did not stay long. As I was about to leave, a couple of Austrian fellows wearing leather shorts, white socks and feathered hats, appeared. After their very polite “bitte” and my “ja, bitte” they sat down across from me. The atmosphere of excitement in the city made things seem informal, thus one of the Austrians began to talk to me. He soon realized that my command of the German language was not very good. After he had paraded his six or seven words of English, we had to get back to his mother tongue. The other fellow spoke nothing but German. Somehow, I got the point across that I could read and write German better than I could speak it, so we resorted to written conversations on napkins and paper scraps.
They were attending the Reich Congress, and proudly displayed their entrance tickets plus various newspaper clippings. In turn, I amused them with my passport and railway tickets. They were so easily entertained, and we laughed a lot. Visiting from their home town of Linz, Austria, they were in Nuremberg for the week. They seemed like such very nice boys. Max was the name of the tall light-haired fellow, and the shorter, darker man called himself Kurt. They wanted to teach me everything about uniforms, pointing out variations in the room. I had to take notes on my napkin, or I would not have remembered it all! It seems that some uniforms are not military, at all. There are a great many “politische” (political) uniforms, — which is the uniform in khaki — and it resembles our army dress. Then there are the “SS” who wear a similar uniform only of a dark color and with a different hat. The SA wear khaki uniforms, but with a different hat and band. The policemen usually wear dark uniforms with quite fancy hats. The true “militarische” (military) wear a strange colored grey-blue uniform and they customarily wear swords. Some fun, we had!