It is past the middle of our journey, but we arrived at the beginning (or perhaps the end) today. We woke up in mist as the fog rolled in and out and the sky cleared over the Danube. Our hotel was at such a perfect spot on the river. In the evening, we watched a glorious sunset and then the sky was on fire for over an hour. This morning, the river was calm and the sun was shining brightly as we had our breakfast with a view.
Before leaving Apatin, we went searching for my grandmother's girl's school, where Loni went as well. Loni described the confusion she felt when she was told in 1944 that she had to return home from boarding school. She did not want to leave all her clothes behind, and did not understand why she had to leave at all. As she was hustled off to Batsch Brestovac, she believed it would be a short visit home, and that she would be back at school soon. It was a sort of finishing school for girls, where useful skills such as sewing and embroidery were in the curriculum. We encountered a Serbian man on a bicycle. He had worked in Germany for many years, and had married a German woman who had died of cancer at age 38. His two sons lived nearby in Serbia, and he was retired and comfortable but looking for a new wife, preferably rich, but well endowed was even better. He saw us looking around at a Cathoic church on the outskirts of the town, and suggested we follow him on his bike to the Rathaus to inquire as to the location of the school.
We agreed to go with him, but with trepidation. At the Rathaus, we were directed to another city administrative office where we waited for the officials to finish with other business and then asked where they thought the girl's school would have been in 1910 or so. They really had no idea and were too young to know anyway. We retraced our steps through the pedestrian zone of the city, to the central Catholic church, which was locked, and the next door priest was out. We found the music school nearby, which was likely the girl's school before the war, but the only staff in the building only knew that the music school had been housed in the building for a certain number of years. When we return to Munich, we will have to ask Loni whether the building we believe was her school is the right one.
It felt as if we were avoiding this last/next step on our adventure. It was past noon when we cruised by the sign to Backi Brestovac. We stopped on the side of the road to photograph the fields of corn and sunflower seeds and soy reaching out in all directions. The land is flat, but not as flat as I expected. I understand why the prairies suited my Dad when he moved to Edmonton; they reminded him of home. Big and beautiful and spectacular skies happen here, much as they do in western Canada. The cloud formations are dramatic and the sky goes on forever. We wondered which fields were Richter fields; Loni was proud that the Richters had 108 hectares, more than anyone else in the town. The hemp factory was in ruins on the edge of town; Jacob had owned an eighth of the enterprise. The Catholic and Jewish cemeteries had disappeared. I saw a photograph of the gravestone for the Richters, but no one knows what happened to it.
The town has the usual Hapsburg layout, with broad spaces between the houses. The asphalt is narrow, but there is a big green expanse in front of each house. The courtyards are gated, but sometimes one sees into the spaces inside, with columns and an open porch on one side and the farming part of the compound opposite the entrance. Many houses are tiled; we were told that the tile industry was prominent in the town before the war. We met with Stephan Stampfer, one of only two Donauswabians who stayed in the town after the war. He was 11 when he was sent with his parents to a labour camp near the Rumanian border. He worked in a gold mine/factory for three years before being released, and returned to Brestowac because his sister had married a Serb and was still living there. The Germans had been forced out and their homes given to Serbs or to other people who had been left homeless. His wife came from Croatia after she and her family had lost their home. She spoke a little of the dialect, and Mr. Stampfer was very difficult to understand. He showed us the church, which is closed most of the year and only opened once or twice yearly to show to the Donauswabians who come to visit. It is poorly maintained and much of the former beauty is faded and worn. Mr.Stampfer does what he can to keep it clean and prevent vandals from defacing it. He receives no funds for his efforts, but does it to keep the story of the Donauswabians alive.
The Richter pew was the front one on the right, in front of the right apse altar. Apparently my grandfather was not religious, but contributed to the church and attended regularly, as did all the other Donauswabians in the town. The rumour is that he was not really Catholic, that the family had changed religion to marry a woman sometime after their arrival in the town. Jacob would not allow my father to be a an altar boy; and my father would hear comments about his father not being Catholic, but no one would actually say that to his face.
Mr. Stampfer tells us the story of the statue of the Virgin Mary that used to stand on a marble base in front of the church. It had been buried to save it from being destroyed. Much later, Mr. Stampfer had found someone who had a device that could trace the location of the statue and dig it up. The Serb who helped him then reburied the statue in concrete, which was devastating for Mr. Stampfer, but then the perpetrator was left crippled, which Mr. Stampfer believes was just punishment for such a sacrilege. It was certainly challenging to be one of the only Donauswabians left in the town.
My grandmother buried all her household goods when she left, believing she would return to dig them up and use them again. I wonder who is using her precious things now.
We visited the original Richter house, the Leinweber house, Jacob's house, Loni's grandparents' home. None of the houses has been kept up, several are abandoned and falling apart. I can understand how sad it feels to see the condition of the homes. The Donauswabians were proud of their town and kept it clean and organized; nothing is well kept anymore. Except the Serbian Orthodox church, which is even older than the Catholic church. We met with a Serbian man who lived in Munich for 40 years and knows much about the town and is very helpful to the Brestowac old-timers who come to visit.
I could not understand how my father would have been content to stay in this small town for the rest of his life. But he tells me he had every intention of returning and staying there forever. The town had everything that was necessary to live, both culturally and as a community. The most significant loss for my father is loss of his community, a way of life that was working for the Donauswabians, a culture, a people, a community that has disappeared forever. Mr. Stampfer informed us that the town had every sort of artisan working in the town. It was well known for tile work and many of the houses were decorated with colourful tiles. There was a rich cultural life, with music and literature and travel. My father tells me he wanted to follow in the footsteps of his father and involve himself in politics.
I felt sad today. So much loss. I learned about the 900 Brestowac inhabitants who fled and the remainder (3500) who stayed and were sent to Gakowo (concentration camp) or labour camps in Rumania and Russia. My great grandmother Elizabeth was shot by Serbian partisans; why would they kill an old grandmother in her home? Out of thousands of inhabitants, only two Donauswabians stayed. The homes and lands of all Donauswabians were taken and distributed to the local Serbs and other families who had been forced out of their own homes elsewhere in what was to become Yugoslavia.
It is depressing to see this once vital town (as evidenced in the memories of my father and Loni and Adam, and in photographs of the inhabitants prior to 1944) destroyed and left to deteriorate. Batsch Brestovac is really entirely gone. I understand why my father never returned.
After having been given leave from his unit to help his family leave the town, my father arrived to find that his mother, Richter grandmother, aunts and uncles and cousins had left, and tried to convince his other grandparents to leave, but they resisted. He was told by his Serb friends to stay, that he would be well treated, but he walked the three hours to Sombor, following the tracks of the wagons that were fleeing.
We drove to Sombor, in the path of the wagons, on the route my father may have taken, but stopped in somber to overnight and spend some time tomorrow visiting his high school and the music school which had great significance for him.
Before leaving Apatin, we went searching for my grandmother's girl's school, where Loni went as well. Loni described the confusion she felt when she was told in 1944 that she had to return home from boarding school. She did not want to leave all her clothes behind, and did not understand why she had to leave at all. As she was hustled off to Batsch Brestovac, she believed it would be a short visit home, and that she would be back at school soon. It was a sort of finishing school for girls, where useful skills such as sewing and embroidery were in the curriculum. We encountered a Serbian man on a bicycle. He had worked in Germany for many years, and had married a German woman who had died of cancer at age 38. His two sons lived nearby in Serbia, and he was retired and comfortable but looking for a new wife, preferably rich, but well endowed was even better. He saw us looking around at a Cathoic church on the outskirts of the town, and suggested we follow him on his bike to the Rathaus to inquire as to the location of the school.
We agreed to go with him, but with trepidation. At the Rathaus, we were directed to another city administrative office where we waited for the officials to finish with other business and then asked where they thought the girl's school would have been in 1910 or so. They really had no idea and were too young to know anyway. We retraced our steps through the pedestrian zone of the city, to the central Catholic church, which was locked, and the next door priest was out. We found the music school nearby, which was likely the girl's school before the war, but the only staff in the building only knew that the music school had been housed in the building for a certain number of years. When we return to Munich, we will have to ask Loni whether the building we believe was her school is the right one.
It felt as if we were avoiding this last/next step on our adventure. It was past noon when we cruised by the sign to Backi Brestovac. We stopped on the side of the road to photograph the fields of corn and sunflower seeds and soy reaching out in all directions. The land is flat, but not as flat as I expected. I understand why the prairies suited my Dad when he moved to Edmonton; they reminded him of home. Big and beautiful and spectacular skies happen here, much as they do in western Canada. The cloud formations are dramatic and the sky goes on forever. We wondered which fields were Richter fields; Loni was proud that the Richters had 108 hectares, more than anyone else in the town. The hemp factory was in ruins on the edge of town; Jacob had owned an eighth of the enterprise. The Catholic and Jewish cemeteries had disappeared. I saw a photograph of the gravestone for the Richters, but no one knows what happened to it.
The town has the usual Hapsburg layout, with broad spaces between the houses. The asphalt is narrow, but there is a big green expanse in front of each house. The courtyards are gated, but sometimes one sees into the spaces inside, with columns and an open porch on one side and the farming part of the compound opposite the entrance. Many houses are tiled; we were told that the tile industry was prominent in the town before the war. We met with Stephan Stampfer, one of only two Donauswabians who stayed in the town after the war. He was 11 when he was sent with his parents to a labour camp near the Rumanian border. He worked in a gold mine/factory for three years before being released, and returned to Brestowac because his sister had married a Serb and was still living there. The Germans had been forced out and their homes given to Serbs or to other people who had been left homeless. His wife came from Croatia after she and her family had lost their home. She spoke a little of the dialect, and Mr. Stampfer was very difficult to understand. He showed us the church, which is closed most of the year and only opened once or twice yearly to show to the Donauswabians who come to visit. It is poorly maintained and much of the former beauty is faded and worn. Mr.Stampfer does what he can to keep it clean and prevent vandals from defacing it. He receives no funds for his efforts, but does it to keep the story of the Donauswabians alive.
The Richter pew was the front one on the right, in front of the right apse altar. Apparently my grandfather was not religious, but contributed to the church and attended regularly, as did all the other Donauswabians in the town. The rumour is that he was not really Catholic, that the family had changed religion to marry a woman sometime after their arrival in the town. Jacob would not allow my father to be a an altar boy; and my father would hear comments about his father not being Catholic, but no one would actually say that to his face.
Mr. Stampfer tells us the story of the statue of the Virgin Mary that used to stand on a marble base in front of the church. It had been buried to save it from being destroyed. Much later, Mr. Stampfer had found someone who had a device that could trace the location of the statue and dig it up. The Serb who helped him then reburied the statue in concrete, which was devastating for Mr. Stampfer, but then the perpetrator was left crippled, which Mr. Stampfer believes was just punishment for such a sacrilege. It was certainly challenging to be one of the only Donauswabians left in the town.
My grandmother buried all her household goods when she left, believing she would return to dig them up and use them again. I wonder who is using her precious things now.
We visited the original Richter house, the Leinweber house, Jacob's house, Loni's grandparents' home. None of the houses has been kept up, several are abandoned and falling apart. I can understand how sad it feels to see the condition of the homes. The Donauswabians were proud of their town and kept it clean and organized; nothing is well kept anymore. Except the Serbian Orthodox church, which is even older than the Catholic church. We met with a Serbian man who lived in Munich for 40 years and knows much about the town and is very helpful to the Brestowac old-timers who come to visit.
I could not understand how my father would have been content to stay in this small town for the rest of his life. But he tells me he had every intention of returning and staying there forever. The town had everything that was necessary to live, both culturally and as a community. The most significant loss for my father is loss of his community, a way of life that was working for the Donauswabians, a culture, a people, a community that has disappeared forever. Mr. Stampfer informed us that the town had every sort of artisan working in the town. It was well known for tile work and many of the houses were decorated with colourful tiles. There was a rich cultural life, with music and literature and travel. My father tells me he wanted to follow in the footsteps of his father and involve himself in politics.
I felt sad today. So much loss. I learned about the 900 Brestowac inhabitants who fled and the remainder (3500) who stayed and were sent to Gakowo (concentration camp) or labour camps in Rumania and Russia. My great grandmother Elizabeth was shot by Serbian partisans; why would they kill an old grandmother in her home? Out of thousands of inhabitants, only two Donauswabians stayed. The homes and lands of all Donauswabians were taken and distributed to the local Serbs and other families who had been forced out of their own homes elsewhere in what was to become Yugoslavia.
It is depressing to see this once vital town (as evidenced in the memories of my father and Loni and Adam, and in photographs of the inhabitants prior to 1944) destroyed and left to deteriorate. Batsch Brestovac is really entirely gone. I understand why my father never returned.
After having been given leave from his unit to help his family leave the town, my father arrived to find that his mother, Richter grandmother, aunts and uncles and cousins had left, and tried to convince his other grandparents to leave, but they resisted. He was told by his Serb friends to stay, that he would be well treated, but he walked the three hours to Sombor, following the tracks of the wagons that were fleeing.
We drove to Sombor, in the path of the wagons, on the route my father may have taken, but stopped in somber to overnight and spend some time tomorrow visiting his high school and the music school which had great significance for him.
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