I was plunged into family memories today. My cousin Lia and her daughter Laura had driven from Dietlingen to visit, the first time I had seen Lia in over 20 years, and I had only met Laura through Facebook and Whatsapp. They kept their rescued dog in the car because he would only respond to Lia and she was the only one in the family who could walk him or even come near him. He sat patiently in the car while we ate in the only restaurant we could find open at 2 in the afternoon.
We dove into family stories when we arrived at Adam and Helga's house, where little has changed over all the years that we have visited. The same Italian ceramics were on the wall, many much like those of my mother's in her home in Edmonton. Our 'Abendbrot' was no different and no less delicious than it had been all the times we had shared in intense visit as children.
Adam was seven years old when he left Ulmenau. He was insistent in telling us that it was a choice for the Brestovac families. The Russians were coming and the German military told them that it was likely that they would be gone for only a few weeks, three perhaps, and then could return. There was much discussion and in the end only 900 left while 3500 stayed behind. Many communities throughout the East had no choice but to leave, were often kicked out, but the Brestovacer liked their freedom and liked having choices. My grandmother's family decided to stay, and ultimately all those who remained were rounded up and sent to labour camps, some to Russia, many to intolerable conditions, and many did not survive. Those who left went with carts driven by horses. My great-grandmother Eva was remembered for taking care of business and driving the horses and moving everyone along. Adam felt that had they not believed they would be back soon, most would have stayed.
My father had been ordered to leave his unit to help evacuate his family from Ulmenau, but arrived after his family had left and wandered through his empty house. He talked to his mother's family, who had decided to stay, because they were Catholic and the priest convinced them that they had done nothing wrong and would not be hurt. Apparently the Orthodox priest who convinced families to stay was ultimately so horrified at what happened to the Germans that remained that he killed himself. Karen learned that at the museum in Stein that she visited with Tara yesterday.
When my father left, with two bottles of his grandfather's wine which he found buried in the sand in the cellar, he rather miraculously found his own father, who happened to be billeted nearby on the Danube. My father was heading back to his unit when he encountered a stranger who informed him that his father was nearby, after having been drafted in the army, despite being well over 45 years old. My father celebrated the encounter with his father with a bottle of the 1920 wine he had brought with him, but his father insisted that he save the second bottle for his wedding day, which was the tradition. His grandfather had been particularly proud of the wine he made, using grapes from a friend he had known in Greece. I am always amazed when I listen to these stories, how word of mouth from stranger to friend to family, was so successful in keeping families together and apprised of their disparate locations.
Adam describes how with cart and wagon, his family and Eva and her group were separated. All the bridges over the Danube had beed destroyed and they and to follow the Danube until they finally found a bridge they could cross. There were ferries that crossed the river, but with horses and carts, they were often unsafe and people and horses drowned more often than not. Finding this 'Duna foltwar' bridge was significant in their 1000 kilometer, twenty three day journey to Grieskirchen in Austria. It was the last bridge standing, and was destroyed by the German army to delay the Russian advance. Unfortunately for Eva and her family, circumstances forced them to take a much longer route up to Budapest, far north of Vienna and even east of Berlin, all the time avoiding Russian troops, and taking over a year longer. Ultimately both families arrived in this small community in Austria where 100 wagons were well received and distributed to different farmhouses throughout the region.
Everyone scrambled to survive in dramatically different circumstances than they were accustomed to. Adam believes they were well received because the Donauswabians were so hardworking. He had a wonderful experience in the local schools and has good memories of his time there. My father on the other hand, when he arrived after the war ended, was not enamored of farm work, and agitated to return to studying as soon as possible. He found a place for himself at the University of Graz and as soon as he was established, was able to bring his parents to Graz to join him.
My father was seventeen years older than his cousin Adam. When my father left for Canada, he gave Adam 100 marks to spend only on concerts and theatre and entertainment. Adam and my father corresponded regularly after that, and every letter has been preserved. Adam would describe each concert he saw in intricate detail until the 100 marks were used up. This was a special memory for Adam.
Our discussion ebbed and flowed through the day, with sadness and joy and tears. It rained furiously outside, so we did not move, just talked, drank beer, looked at photos, took photos, reminisced about a past we are very much part of.
My father and his brother Tony as children.
