I was riding a wave between feelings of carefree joy, and feelings of worry and loneliness. My wish for a
real father who would be someone I could go to for advice; who would be both my friend and protector;
never came true. My father never showed much real interest in me, and my mother seemed to find it extremely
difficult to cope with the situation that had developed. A hard job, three little kids, and a complete lack
of support from the father of her children put her under immense pressure that was sometimes unbearable.
Luckily however, her parents stood by her ready to help and offer advice. Although their means were also
very limited, even the smallest help they could provide could still make everyday life a little bit easier.
To begin with I only played immediately in front of the house, in the playground, or in my grandparents'
little back yard. Opa took me more and more frequently with him on his hikes through the Grunewald. This
big forest was practically on our doorstep; there was the long toboggan run, the Krumme Lanke lake, the
"Avus" (Autobahn) and the Havel hills. In the years after the war there were not many large trees remaining
at the edge of the forest. In the place of mature trees, there were never-ending areas of tree nurseries.
These consisted of mainly young pines which were roughly the same size as me - between four and five feet.
I got some nasty pricks from their branches whenever I squeezed my way through to the countless raspberry
and blackberry bushes. In between the highway, also known as the Avus, and the Wannsee, a stretch of water
belonging to the Havel river, stood the two Havel hills (called Havelberge). One of them was covered with
all kinds of trees and bushes; the other one looked on its top completely bare, simply a sandy desert. The
trails leading up to these hills were constantly being freshly churned up by wide tank tracks, and so for
me they were extremely interesting. At some corners, I discovered track furrows that were about two feet
deep.
When I was with Opa, I didn't have to stay on the trail, as Oma would have preferred - I was allowed to
hike through the area as I pleased. I liked that much better. The Grunewald was for me, a young boy, nothing
but an adventure. In the Fall I eagerly collected mushrooms, and thanks to my Opa I was able to tell which
ones were edible, even as a small boy. Searching for "Stone", "Butter", and "Birch Tree" mushrooms was great
fun. We were always particularly excited whenever we found a big "Parasol" mushroom that could be cooked
like a "Wiener Schnitzel".
During our usual hikes through the Grunewald; I must have been about seven or eight years old by this time;
we often heard loud shots in the distance or sometimes closer. For us it was a familiar noise that could be
heard constantly, day and night. My Opa always said "they're practicing again"! He was referring to the
American soldiers who carried out large and smaller military exercises in the Grunewald, which was located
mainly in the American Sector. We often saw the soldiers too. The U.S. tank barracks (Turner Barracks) were
located on the nearby Huettenweg, simply called "Tank Road". Again and again, as I passed by on my way to
the Grunewald lake, I would watch the soldiers at work on the heavy tracked vehicles. Two long lines of
tanks were parked there, less than 30 yards from the fence. I can still remember the strong smell of oil
and fuel, and I found the whole atmosphere particularly exciting. On one occasion, a soldier in uniform
beckoned to me and, laughing, handed me some small brown bars of milk chocolate through the gaps in the
fence. "Hershey's", a gift from heaven! Unfortunately, Opa hurried me on much too quickly. He pointed at
the large warning signs forbidding people to linger in front of military grounds.
I was already quite familiar with the American soldiers' big housing area which bordered my neighborhood.
The Americans stood out immediately in their light and colorful clothing which they even wore in the winter
months. I was especially impressed by their big, posh, shiny cars. Wow, some looked like "battle ships" to
me. I was a bit envious of the American kids' many toys, and I didn't get along well with them because I
couldn't understand their language. But they also could not understand or speak German. They didn't even
have to walk to school every day like I did - they were whisked back and forth in big green school buses.
Weren't they the lucky ones!
Their Daddies, "disguised" as soldiers of the Berlin Brigade, marched behind one another along the
Onkel-Tom-Strasse, on both sidewalks, sometimes heading into the wood, sometimes emerging from within.
Then there were the countless military convoys. They drove past us in open-top jeeps or in trucks, or they
ran across our trail as quick as a flash and soon disappeared again. On other days, heavy tanks roared past
and left large clouds of dust and dirt behind them. Sometimes the soldiers sat at their positions on the
edge of the trails, smiled, waved and called out "Hi" or "Hello"! Although I felt quite intimidated by
their heavy rifles, the soldiers in their all green uniforms radiated warmth and friendliness. On the
right-hand breast of their green fatigue shirts they wore their names on a white background; on the left a
black cloth tape with the golden colored words "U.S. ARMY". On all military vehicles you could see big
white stars. Their helmets were often covered with camouflage netting, sometimes with small twigs sticking
out of the meshing.
Childhood luck
