Memories Harold Werner von Hahn
Biographical information
Born in Frankfurt/a.M., I was raised in Oberursel/Ts., immigrating to the USA upon my 17th birthday. I joined the USMC and served honorably for 12 yrs. Graduated from NYU with a B.A. and subsequently got my MBA. Worked in the nuclear power plant construction industry on a worldwide basis and are currently semiretired, owning and operating with my wife an international airfreight forwarding company.
My oldest son, following his father's footsteps, completed this year USMC - OCS and is
awaiting his commission to 2nd Lt. My youngest son, also his following father's footsteps,
will start college this year, majoring in business administration and international
finance.
I was the German paperboy
I was the German paperboy for the Taunus Anzeiger at Camp King. The yrs. were end 1950's and beginning 60's. I was 11-14 yrs. old. I recall a lot of spooky things at the top of the base (Eichenwaeldchen). There were Germans and other "foreign" civilians working, wearing suits and driving US Govt. vehicles. I also recall the Barber Shop in Oberursel these "strange" people used. Corell and der Hohenmarkstrasse (Gloecknerwiese). Our house was next door to the Barber Shop. My grandfather cursed these people as "traitors."
I delivered newspapers to the Wache (up front), the apt. houses to the right when you
entered Camp King. Then up the hill, the old Fachwerkhauser, where some of the
senior officers lived. I also recall the "O" Club. They got 5
papers. The mess hall was halfway through the camp right hand side, near the fence,
were there was a hill going up to the Eichenwaeldchen. The mess hall was close
enough to the fence that there was active "trading" with the German kids who
used to come to the fence after chow.
I was treated very well by the Americans and received my tips in US currency. As I
was allowed to enter Camp King with my Fahrrad and three bags full of newspapers, I left
the camp some times with cigarettes, Jim Beam, ice cream and Weissbrot.
Introduction to Americans
During one of my first visits to the Camp I was introduced to two very American symbols: I met and spoke for the first time to an African American GI, as well as finding out what chewing gum is and that you do not swallow gum.
My First Bicycle - Thank You Camp King
My parents and grandparents attempted to teach me early on in life the value of money and
the honor associated with honest labor. At the tender age of 10 (me) my grandfather
assumed the added responsibility (he still had a full-time job) of delivering daily, in
the afternoon, the local newspaper "Der Taunus Anzeiger" to Camp King. He
had a bicycle loaded down with newspapers and I ran along delivering the papers to the
various homes and THE CAMP. He would wait at the main gate with the guards.
They usually gave him a few American cigarettes and he was in heaven. Meanwhile, I
ran around inside the camp and distributed the newspaper to the various recipients.
This all went along very smooth, but I was making too little money as I had to split the
commission and tips with grandpa, except for the Camp King tips. Those were 100%
mine. I was permitted to use the tips for anything I wished, but the commission
portion had to go into the bank. I decided that I wanted a bicycle so that I could
take over the paper route on my own once I was 12 yrs. old. However, based on the
tips I was making, I calculated, I would be old enough to buy a motorcycle by the time I
had saved up enough money. I was depressed. One day when I was collecting the
monthly newspaper fee from the various Camp King dependents and offices I told my lot to
an American officer who was in the process of paying me and who tipped always very
generously. Each month he would give me two to three US quarters as a tip.
(exchange rate: $1.00 = DM4.00). Once he knew what I was saving for the tip
increased to a dollar and all of a sudden I was asked by a GI at the mess hall if I could
delivery any "extra" newspapers to the mess hall for cash. "After
all, I was told you want to buy a bike." We always got 3-5 extra newspapers and
now I had found a buyer. Needless to say I had my money saved up in no time, but it
was all in quarters and one dollar bills. Grandpa took me to the bank where I
exchanged all that "funny" money into Deutschmark. I was surprised how
much I had made and soon thereafter I bought my first bicycle. On my 12th. birthday
I took over the entire newspaper route and grandpa was happy to be able to stay at
home. I was by now a known fixture at Camp King and had unquestioned access to
almost any location at the Camp. After all, I was the paperboy and not a spy.
My American customers changed over
the years, but their generosity never did. I always received "value added"
tips, coca cola, ice cream and snacks. Later on, as I grew older, and wiser, I even
developed a very active trading business with the American GI's at Camp King. I was
at the Camp 4 - 5 days a week and as the paperboy, who would think there was anything but
newspapers in those big pouches hanging from the bike? I stopped delivering newspapers
when a transport unit moved into the camp.
The Barbershop Quartet and other Strange Occurrences
During the 50's and 60's almost every German town which had an American military presence has some recollection of, or involvement in the Cold War. Oberursel was no different. As children, we did not understand (nor were we terribly concerned) the whole impact of this "war," yet many of us recall "strange going ON’s" in our towns. None of us German children understood the importance of Camp King to the US MI community, but its presence was very much felt. Here are some memories, which as an adult and former 02 Marine, now make sense, but were in my childhood days nothing but question marks.
One day I was looking out of our kitchen window and low and behold I saw some of the same foreign strangers again. They were entering a local barbershop, located right next to our house. Minutes later, an unmarked US military sedan pulled up and the men in the barbershop were joined by some other Americans.
My next sighting of these men occurred when I was in Camp King, delivering the local
German newspaper. The mystery grew.
It should be
noted for a small town like Oberursel, in those days, unknown people in suits, American
style, short hair and US military sedans stood out like a sore thumb.
We continued to watch these meetings over several weeks and got even nosier, learning that
these accidental meetings progressed to a German food store, playground and Kiosk.
We children were told to avoid the playground as even German mothers found it odd that
well dressed, unknown men were meeting and sitting on the playground benches while the
local men were at work.
Some forty five - fifty years later and having had an adequate exposure to and experience
in the world of intelligence, none of these strange occurrences appear any longer so
strange. We German kids had stumbled across an ongoing MI operation. Maybe some of the
operators formerly involved will recall and smile.
The Hohemark
Away from Camp
King, nestled in the forests around the Hohemark was, what we were told, an
"Anstalt." In other words, a hospital for mental patients. We were always told
to stay away from the place, but as it goes with children, it intrigued us even more to
attempt to infiltrate the hospital grounds. We never saw a lot of activity in or around
the hospital, except for the following:
The hospital grounds were cordoned of at places with US military fencing and the typical
(in those days) German/American warning signs to stay out. Restricted Area, etc. To us
kids this meant little, except that the Americans must have something to do with the
hospital and we must look.
The few men who were entering and leaving the hospital grounds via US govt. vehicles
(sedans) also meant (initially) little to us, except confirming the fact that the US Army
had something to do with the hospital and or it's patients (who we never saw).
After having
gained access to the hospital grounds by lifting the fence at an unsecured corner of the
property, we would notice and hear that these men did not speak German, but rather some
other languages. One of us boys, whose parents came from the east told us they were
speaking Czech, another boy thought it was Polish and someone even believed they spoke
Russian. We did not know, but the place became more and more intriguing to us future
spies. One day we saw even some Americans at the hospital grounds, walking and speaking
with those "foreigners" in English. We soon got bored with our spy operation and
found other interests.
Later on in the late 60's I was told that the facility at the Hohemark served possibly as an annex to Camp King. Furthermore, my mother had worked in the 50's (early) at the 97th. Army General Hospital in Frankfurt. She had been assigned to a ward which belonged to the Intelligence Unit in Oberursel. The patients were Eastern Europeans and Germans. They were being "interviewed" while confined to this ward. The interviewers were all from Oberursel, as my Mom used to get occasionally rides "back home" to Oberursel from these people.
CAN YOU HEAR ME
One of the many precious freedoms one enjoys in the States is the freedom to do about
anything one desires. This includes the operation of a CB or SSB radio. I
realize that in years gone by one was required to write away for a FCC license, however,
as a whole, the operation of a CB radio is not restricted in the USA. This was not
always the case in post WWII Germany. During the 50's and 60's the operation of any
radio transmitter was highly regulated and restricted. Like in all other countries,
Ham radio operators and stations were licensed and transmission by any other device was
strictly forbidden. In fact, radio transmissions and receiving was very regulated
and controlled in Germany, as Germans had to pay a tax for having a radio receiver.
As a child, I recall the German "Post" sending out monitoring vehicles, which
would catch people who had a radio receiver and were not paying the required radio
receiver tax. For the older Germans it was a cat and mouse game reminiscent of the
days under Hitler.
Once again, we children had a totally different take on this issue. We would try
(and did) to build transmitters and generally created havoc over the local airwaves.
The first transmitter we built was a clumsy, large, very hot, tube operated transmitter
with uncontrollable output. Due to its sheer output power we never worried about the
frequencies we operated on. Well, the US Army in Oberursel and the German Post did.
We had built this monstrosity, hid it in our attic and were in the process of becoming
DJ's. Initially, we would transmit only at night, usually, AFN programs we had previously
recorded AND, here comes the real problem. As kids we would search daily the
frequencies of our family radio, looking for rock & roll music or anything else of
interest. When listening to UKW, and having the dial all the way at the beginning or
the end of the band, and the weather was cooperating, one could occasionally receive
transmissions in German which were nothing but code names and numbers. We kids had
no clue as to the meaning of these transmissions, but our imaginations were racing.
We recorded these transmissions and would retransmit them at night. Why?
Because it was a fun thing to do. This all went well for about a week or two.
All of a sudden there were German Post vehicles all over our street. Every time our
lookout saw them we stopped transmitting. We enjoyed the cat & mouse game with
the German authorities. Little did we know that there were also the Americans, doing
their own, independent investigation. They were sneakier. The German Post had
vehicles one could clearly identify. The Americans, we did not see. One
evening, we were transmitting the answers to some math homework, which sounded like code,
when there was a knock on our front door. My grandparents opened the door and there
were - the German Police, two US Army officers in civilian clothing and a representative
of the German Post. Busted.
Our radio equipment was taken away. I lost my first reel to reel. Our antenna
was taken down and we received a severe talking to. We were convinced that we would
go to jail, forever. But things got worse, our school was notified and the fraud
about the homework transmissions became known. Another talking to by the school
"Rektor" (principal) followed. In short, we were in deep trouble.
Just as we thought that we had reached the bottom of our early criminal careers we were
called by the school principal to report to his office. Scared to death we reported
to the principal's office. Present were the two American officers who had been at my
house and a German speaking man from Camp King. We were questioned in great length
as to how and with whom we had built this radio, were we had gotten the parts from and
what we were transmitting. The interview continued for hours. We
confessed. The evidence against us was overwhelming. Having confessed and
awaiting our sentence of punishment (we thought), the German speaking man gave an envelope
to our school principal, stating that the funds contained in the envelope should be used
to establish a ham radio club in our school and that we should be taught how to work
within the law. There was no further punishment to follow AND my reel to reel tape
recorder was returned to me. The transmitter - gone
forever.
Shortly thereafter we discovered girls and our DJ careers were forgotten for the time
being.
The Tunnels of Oberursel
While there is a lot of speculation and rumors about escape tunnels as it relates to Camp
King (when it was a German POW camp for Allied flyers), there is little in terms of facts
available. When Camp King was turned over to the Germans and they restored/rebuilt
the camp into a beautiful residential area, there were instances of surprising roadway
collapses (were those former tunnels ? - who knows) and added construction dilemmas
because of those mysterious collapses, but a definitive answer as to any escape tunnels
will remain a mystery, perhaps never to be solved.
This of course does not mean that there were no alleged tunnels or "hiding
places" in or around Oberursel. Here is what I recall:
As long as I can remember, our parents and grandparents had told us "do not pick up
anything in the woods (unexploded ordinance?), do not climb into anything which looks like
a tunnel or bunker (what is a bunker?). Translated to us children, this edict
meant: pick up anything and everything and snoop around everything.
Well, here is what we found:
Below the swimming pool, above the GHB (the airplane engine) factory, we found several
tunnels and concrete hardened, defensive barricades. We dug up the exits or
entrances (steel doors) and gained access to the probable gun placements and defensive
positions. All we ever found was a rusted-out, old military- style cooking stove,
several rodent invested sleeping cots, some semi-empty, rusted ammo boxes, several German
hand grenades, radio/tel. wire and countless empty and semi-empty liquor
bottles.
What a find! By the time we disclosed our find to our friends, it had grown to dead soldiers, tanks and guns galore. In reality, we had told our parents about our find and they had contacted the German police immediately (due to the hand grenades). The police interviewed us and warned us to stay away from the area. To the best of my knowledge, the area was cleared and all bunkers and other underground structures were filled in with dirt and concrete.
However, there was also a more mysterious, reward related, hunting for tunnels and caves
in and around Oberursel. As children, we probably knew of every cave, tunnel or
hiding place in the woods in around Oberursel. American officers from Camp King
visited with a German-speaking gentleman our public schools. We were called into the
"Aula" (school theatre). Here we were told to stay away from any and all
military looking items we may find in the woods. We were also told, should we
however find any caves, tunnels, hiding places, anything (in particular - suitcases with
clothing, uniforms, radios, weapons, military items, cameras, maps, assorted papers,
documents, anything), we were supposed to touch nothing, mark the area and tell our
parents immediately, who in turn were to call the local police. If the find was
important, there was supposed to be a reward. Well, we kids, we searched the woods
and found - US military equipment lost or left behind by US soldiers who had been on
maneuvers in the woods. The only reward ever gotten, was $5.00 for a weapon (rifle)
we found in the woods due north of the Schillerturm. It must have been lost by a GI
when on maneuvers. Several years later, while searching for mushrooms, we discovered
a small cave* containing several suitcases. The suitcases were filled with several
old German uniforms and assorted official looking papers. We reported our find to
the German police who quickly confiscated the items and told us kids to "play
somewhere else."
The only other recollection I have about tunnels & caves and other "strange"
findings is that we kids had attempted to "salt the mines" by planting in the
woods caches of stolen underwear, old radio tubes, an old suitcase and assorted other
"suspicious" items and then sell our "find" directly to Camp
King. We knew that the German police would not buy our story (or for that matter our
"find"), but there were also no takers at Camp King and we kids became bored
with this game.
What we kids did not know was that the American Army had, among other intelligence
activities, a very active counter intelligence surveillance program in effect, seeking
anyone who had no business being around the Camp King
installation.
*500-750 meters west of the Kiesgrube, above the Neubronner Factory.
Tag der Offenen Tuer at Camp King
Once a year Camp King would hold a "Friendship Day," inviting and welcoming Oberursel citizens, especially the kids, to the Camp. There we were treated to ice cream, hot dogs, hamburgers and assorted games and amusements found at any American hometown carnival. It was an opportunity for the American dependents, residing at Camp King, GI's as well as us, the German youth, to mingle, learn about America and Americans and generally develop a positive feeling about the USA. We kids never had a problem. The politics of the past did not enter our minds. Some of the adults were more interested in the limited display of weaponry and military hardware and there were many attempts by Germans to communicate with their American hosts, just to realize that they had to call upon their children to do the translating.
There were always a few older Germans who declined contact with the Americans for reasons
too old to remember. Some recalled that their homes had been
"besclagnahmt" (confiscated) by the Americans immediately post-WWII, while
others had sustained different losses, each the result of the horrors of war, any
war. There was also a feeling by some older "Orschler" that the Americans
just did not belong in Oberursel. However, the majority of the people of Oberursel
welcomed, and were happy about the presence of the Americans in our little town. It
was also very interesting that the same few people who had those negative feelings about
Americans never complained when their children or grandchildren returned from the Camp
with bags of "Ami"goodies.
One year, it must have been in the early 60's, Camp King coordinated their "Tag der
Offenen Tuer" with some other regional American military celebrations (possibly
Fourth of July) and the Air Force facilitated an air show. In any case, several jets
flew very low over Oberursel, breaking the sound barrier, as well as countless windows,
chasing the older people who remembered the war into the streets, seeking shelter.
It was a well-intended aerial show, poorly received, as no one in Oberursel had been
notified of the forthcoming air spectacle. In years to follow the show was never
again repeated on such a low flying level.
After a day at Camp King we would come home in the evening, loaded down with "care" packages from our American hosts, marveling at all the wonderful food they had and not just on special days, but every day (or so we believed). Grandpa and grandma would carefully pack away the snacks and we kids would enjoy for the next few days a small piece of Americana after our main meals.
Drinking
Places
Zum Uhu - When I was a kid - the Uhu was the first place were I could get some
"Applewoi" over the counter. At night it was a favorite hangouts for GI's
returning to Post as it was situated in the back of the Hohemarkstrasse and therefore
somewhat private. The owner's also forgot the local laws as it related to Polizei
Stunde and serving minors. But the Uhu has survived to this day.
The Pool
For many years the pool was segregated between US military forces and German
nationals. This changed over the years and we had thereafter many good days at the
swimming pool with our American friends.
The
Oberurseler Schwimmbad
While in the late 40's
and 50's non-fraternization with German nationals was the order of the day, each American
commander, depending how far away his post was from the flagpole, interpreted this order
in his own way.
Camp King was no different, except that the very mission of the camp and its inhabitants required continuous, if not intimate, contact with German nationals. In addition, out of the view of their superiors, the average GI interpreted the non-fraternization rule based on his own belief and feelings about the Germans. The number of out of wedlock born German-Americans is witness to this form of re-interpretation. (One should also never forget that the allied occupation forces consisted largely of teenage American boys, while the liberating forces of WWII had seen the worst of mankind and what human being are capable of doing to each other.)
In Oberursel there was a time when the city owned and operated "Schwimmbad" was
segregated, permitting the American occupation forces access to the pool on certain days
and the Germans on other days. During my early youth I recall that the pool was
perhaps no longer formally segregated, but the Americans would have their blankets and
camps at one location around the pool, while the Germans had their towels and blankets at
another. There was an uneasy mingling between the GI's and us Germans, mostly
because of our mutual lack of understanding each other and our cultures.
We watched with disbelief how the Americans were throwing (and catching) an egg shaped ball, even offering them to play with our soccer ball, as their ball must certainly have a leak and was going flat. We attempted to engage the GI's in our soccer games, but they in turn did not understand soccer rules. But we all understood coke and American snacks. The German grounds keepers had an everlasting battle, trying to tell the GI's "no grills, no fires."
There were also other pronounced cultural differences. Germans would have no problems changing from their street clothing into their bathing suits, using merely a tree, bush or towel as modesty cover, while Americans always rented a private cabin for changing. As the rental of cabins had a fee attached, to us Germans this was a sign that all Americans were rich. Another surprising discovery was that Americans loved to drink beer and liquor while at the swimming pool. This is not to say that Germans did not like to drink, but Germans almost never consumed hard liquor in public, except when in a "Gasthaus." As children, and later as teenagers, we were always warned of the dangers of swimming and drinking liquor. Many Camp King GI's got drunk horsing around, jumped into the pool and subsequently had to be pulled out by the life guards. The worst however was yet to follow. MP's were dispatched from Camp King, taking the wet and drunk GI into custody.
Usually, towards the evening hours, when our older brothers and sisters would join us at the pool to cool off (after a long day of working), the already lacks, non-fraternization rules went straight out of the window and were replaced with such half German/English questions: "Your sister - she here every day?" The swimming pool property, with its secluded lawns, gave the GI's and young German girls an opportunity to meet and socialize without being concerned about the hawkish eyes of protective parents, gossiping neighbors or the ever present fear of jealous, fellow GI's, who would report them. I only later found out that the changing cabins had a duo purpose, something we kids had no interest in (yet).
Oberursel had (and still has) a very active swim club, the OSC. In addition, the
"DLRG" was facilitating us kids with getting qualified as nationally
"certified" swimmers and ultimately as rescue swimmers. We tried on
countless occasions to interest the Americans in this program, but never succeeded.
It may have been due to the non-fraternization rule and the fact that it was a German
government sponsored and supported activity. The "OSC" also extended many
informal invitations to the children of the Camp dependents to participate in our swimming
activities. But again, there was most of the time a polite "thank-you,"
but "no thank you." Therefore, the swim records of the "OSC" do
not reflect any American records or swimmers, which I think, is sad.
After a day at the swimming pool, the GI's would usually walk or drive down the steep
hill, back to the "Hohemarkstrasse" and stop at the "Zum Uhu" for a
few cold beers. The "Uhu" was (and still is) your basic, bare bone, no
frills, drinking establishment. From there they would either walk, drive, or take
the "Strassenbahn" for one stop, back to Camp King.
In years to come, with the non-fraternization rules abolished, the "Schwimmbad"
became one of "the" dating places for American GI's and the young girls of
Oberursel and the surrounding communities. Today, the "Schwimmbad" has a
luxury hotel, beautifully kept lawns and of course, an immaculate swimming pool.
Aside from learning how to play with a deflated, egg shaped ball, I too met my first
girlfriend at the "Schwimmbad."
The Fate of
Non-Combatants
While in today's world the word "non-combatant" has a much sinister meaning, my
grade school class experienced this term at the tender age of 12 yrs. Let me
explain.
During the 50's and 60's it was customary for most German schools to have several
"Wandertage" (hiking days) during the school year. This meant, depending
upon your age, your teacher would take the entire class on a daylong hike, or if older, go
on an overnight trip with you. Yes, boys and girls together and no parental
chaperons came along for the hike. In those days, teachers were respected and there
was no question as to who was in charge.
To set the stage properly, one must also not forget that in the post WWII years there was a shortage of young German male teachers. The average age of many of the teachers was late 50's or even beginning 60's. Hence, most, if not all of the teachers were veterans of WWII. No different with our teacher, "Herr Röder."
Weeks before the actual hiking day the teachers would meet among each other, and like generals planning a major offensive, study maps, make plans, calculate distances, walking speeds, supply requirements, bus schedules, etc. If one would not know better, each hiking day was planned with the precision of a major military campaign.
Herr Röder had decided that our class would conquer a small plateau, just below the
"Feldberg," called "Fuchstanz." We would hike through the
mountains, up to the "Fuchstanz" and take a public bus back to the
"Hohemark" and from there we would take the "Strassenbahn" back into
Oberursel. We were not very happy with the chosen objective, as we had already
conquered the same plateau in previous years during one of our many hikes. Herr
Röder however assured us that he would make it an interesting hike, as he knew many
different, uncharted routes to the "Fuchstanz."
During one of our final classes prior to the day of hiking he presented to us, with the conviction of a conquering general, the map and route of our attack on the "Fuchstanz." The marked out route would have been the pride of any military leader. Assembly points, break/rest locations, distances, elevations, all were marked with the greatest detail and precision, rivaling only Field Marshall Rommel and his African campaign.
On the morning of the hike I was awoken by my grandfather at some ungodly hour. I recall it was still dark outside. My grandfather, another WWII veteran, had spent the better part of the night packing my "Rucksack," "Brotbeutel," and preparing a canteen with cold coffee. Based on the weight of all the gear, I felt I was ready for the Russian campaign. I recall having objected to all the "essentials" my grandfather had packed for me, but who am I? He reminded me of all his years in Russia and how he wished he would have had some of the items he had packed for me. I reminded him that we are only going for a day hike and we would be back home for supper. My protests and objections fell on deaf ears.
It was still dark outside when we assembled in front of our school. One could observe a clear distinction between the kids who's fathers and grandfathers had been in the military and those who had been civilians. The children of the vets were walking "Rucksäcke," while the children from non-military families were only carrying the barest essentials. Herr Röder dressed in knickers, felt hat, "Brotbeutel," whistle, map, compass, binoculars and a hiking cane was ready to lead his troops to victory. True to his word, he soon led us into the deep forest, away from the charted hiking routes. We were singing and hiking, attempting to outmarch/hike our teacher who was showing his age as the hills got steeper and steeper. As we were unfamiliar with the route our teacher was taking, we were forced to stay near him. The rest stops became more frequent and we noticed that our teacher was consulting the map and compass more and more. However, like a good leader, he assured us that "we were right on track." After hours of climbing steep hills and doubling back over the same real estate a second time, even we kids realized: we were lost.
As the noon hour had come and past, Herr Röder called for the mid-day or lunch break. Unlike American hikers or campers, we, as kids, were discouraged from making any campfires. Our lunch consisted of cold cuts and cheese sandwiches (on rye bread), fruit and YES, cold coffee. After lunch, Herr Röder rallied the most senior boys around him and confirmed what we already all knew. "The map was full of errors and the compass was not working properly, but we were not lost." Something about being temporarily disorientated. He suggested we break up into small groups and search for an old logging trail and a clearing with young pine trees. Due west of the logging trail should be the highway which would lead us to the bus stop at the "Fuchstanz."
Having accepted our mission with eager, we spread out to seek and find the old logging trail. My group of approximately four boys climbed back into the forest seeking our target, when we noticed an opening in the thick forest straight ahead of us. Although, there was no sign of a logging trail, we were pretty sure we had found the clearing with all the newly planted pine trees. As we were discussing our find amongst each other we noticed off in the distance that some of the bushes and trees were moving. We first thought that the sun was affecting our eyesight, but pretty soon we had definitive proof that one of the bushes, approximately 100 meters out, was in fact moving. We were fascinated and scared at the same time. Forgetting all the warnings from our teacher "not to separate," we spread out and laid very still behind some tree stumps, watching the moving bushes. We pretty soon were able to make out body features and heard voices. Hiding, with our hearts pounding, we realized that the moving bushes were soldiers, American soldiers. Concentrating on how to retreat without being detected, we did not notice that several moving bushes, which stood up and advanced towards us, rifles in hand, had surrounded us. To say that we were truly scared is an understatement of facts. The only thing we kids could think of was to stand up - and raise our arms into the air. The soldiers motioned us to drop our hands and marched us, movie like, back into the forest. We kids thought we were going to be shot.
After a short walk of about 300 meters we ended up on the elusive logging trail we had been seeking. Several hundred meters further we noticed two large camouflaged tents to the right of us. The soldiers walked us to the tent area and motioned us to stop. Several other soldiers, coming from the tents, looked us over and proceeded to talk to each other in a heated exchange of words. We kids did not understand a word they were saying. The group broke apart and two soldiers came back with some rope, a sledgehammer and some wooden stakes. Our imagination was working overtime. I recalled every American cowboy and Indian movie I had ever seen and the imagined prospects were not rosy. The soldiers proceeded to set up a roped off coral and motioned us to stay within the roped off area and to sit down. Another soldier entered our coral and took our "Fahrtenmesser." Having collected our knives, a group of soldiers entered into a heavy debate, periodically looking at us and then at our knives. We were too scared to say or object to anything.
This changed all of a sudden as a jeep pulled up the logging trail and several senior looking soldiers jumped from the vehicle. There was some shouting, finger pointing at us, more shouting and all of a sudden quiet. One of the senior soldiers walked up to the coral, ripped down the rope, pulled out the wooden stakes and had some other soldiers give us several cardboard boxes stuffed with cans of food, chocolate, chewing gum and cigarettes. He smiled, walked up to us and proceeded to take away the small packs of cigarettes, which had come with each of the boxes. Again, something very strange to us German kids. In Germany, during those days, we would have brought the cigarettes to our fathers or grandfathers who would have been most thankful. Underage smoking, which I am sure was the greatest concern to the American, was not even on our minds. Cigarettes, in those days, were a trading commodity to us Germans. As we spoke little English and the American soldier spoke no German, the international sign language for "eat" and "hungry" took over. We were delighted, but had no knifes or can openers. We motioned to our empty scabbards on our belts and pointed to the soldiers who had taken our knives. The senior looking American started screaming again, pointing fingers and within minutes we had gotten back our knives. We found out later that the soldiers had thought that we had Hitler Youth knives, as the boy scouts knife looks similar to the Hitler Youth knife, less insignia.
Knife in hand, minus a can opener, we were still unable to get our hands on the canned
food. Our "captors" realized our dilemma and were all of a sudden only too
eager to help. The cans were opened in no time, another soldier heated the food and
we kids were feasting on our first c-rations.
Another jeep approached and again some even more senior soldiers got out. One of them walked immediately over to us kids started to talk to us in broken, but understandable German. He wanted to know how the food was, why we were in the woods and how many of us there were in the woods. We explained the entire story, how our teacher got lost and how we were searching for logging trail.
The American officer smiled and barked some orders. Next we saw about twenty
soldiers, less camouflage in their helmets and rifles spread out and walk into the woods
towards the area we had come from.
A short time later we saw our entire class, including Herr Röder, who was still orientating himself on the map, walking down the logging trail with the Americans smiling and escorting them to the tents. The German speaking American officer asked for our attention and told us that we were in a restricted maneuver area. He even had a copy of local newspaper, which announced the maneuver, advising hikers to stay clear of the affected area. Mr. Röder apologized profusely and took responsibility for the entire fiasco.
Having missed our bus, our next problem became how were we supposed to get back to the "Hohemark." Once again, the American officer came to the rescue. He told us that it would take some time, but he would arrange for transportation for all of us, all the way back to Camp King. In the interim we should "play some games, sing, or do whatever German kids do, but stay out of the tents and do not touch anything." The American soldiers proceeded to (attempt) to teach us American football, while we Germans attempted to teach the soldiers soccer. While no NFL or "Bundesliga" stars were born that afternoon, all spread a lot of good will and friendship.
Shortly before sundown several six bys came to the entrance of the logging trail and we were loaded onto the trucks, the soldiers being most gentle with the girls and admonishing us boys with hand gestures to sit down and stay down. The trucks took us on a fun ride all the way to Camp King, where there were more soldiers helping us of the trucks, carrying our gear to the train station and acting as crossing guards when we were crossing the "Hohemarkstrasse." Herr Röder had been permitted to "ride up front" in one of the trucks and one was not sure if Mr. Röder wanted to return to teaching or keep on riding trucks with the American soldiers.
Weeks later we found out that the senior American officer who had helped us so much was a
Colonel who had studied German in college. Some time later, Mr. Röder and the
Colonel had dinner together and the Colonel gave our teacher as a gift a brand new compass
and a map of the local area. For years to come, Mr. Röder still felt that even the
new map contained errors, as he could never find his way in the "Taunus"
mountains.
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