Once, one of them leaped up and ran towards me. My heart jumped a beat and I reached in vain for my Opa's
hand. But Opa had already walked on further, as I had been dawdling again. Damn, what should I do now?
The soldier, whose smiling face was covered in green camouflage paint, held in his hands a light brown
cardboard box filled with several cans. Uttering words such as "good" and "here", he handed me the box,
turned around and disappeared as quickly as he had emerged. I was so flabbergasted that I didn't even manage
to say "thank-you". Full of expectation and curiosity, I ran to my grandpa and carried my acquisition proud
back home. Why the hell did the walk back home have to take so long?
On the way home, Opa read out the English writing on the six dark green cans and translated them for me.
We had: "Beefsteak with Gravy", "Jam", "Crackers", "Candy", "Peanut Butter", "Cheese Spread",
"Fruit Cocktail", "Ham and Lima Beans", and small packs of sugar, salt, coffee powder, and milk powder.
Two of those cans had small ring-pulls on the bottom so we could immediately have a look at what was inside.
Apart from another two small, gold colored cans, there were also some cream-filled biscuits inside. These
were called "cookies". Wow, what a good taste! A small, round, pleasant-smelling block that we at first
thought was chocolate, turned out to be compressed cocoa powder. In one brown packet I even discovered a
little pack with chewing gum and a small packet of Winston cigarettes. The excitement could have killed me.
When we finally arrived home, Grandpa opened all of the cans, one by one, and all was revealed. So, that
was the soldiers' maneuver rations. We split everything up between us and tasted it all. The stuff tasted
rather unusual, but somehow really nice. I should rather say I thought it was great; I could hardly contain
my enthusiasm.
In the mid 1950s, a time when there was no money for sweets or little extras, what had happened turned out
to be a key experience for me which made my interest in the American troops grow and grow over time. I
had often noticed these inconspicuous little green cans, laying around practically everywhere, but had
never paid much attention to them. They were mostly in places where yellow sand indicated freshly dug
ditches, in holes or in bushes that usually stood out because they were clustered together on one place.
There they would lay, countless empty cans, but amongst them also were sometimes unopened rations. My Opa
called these "combat emplacements," and pointed suddenly towards a shiny, golden colored object that was
about three inches long and that lay directly in front of me in the grass. I immediately picked it up, full
of curiosity. I had never seen anything like it, or at least I wasn't aware of ever having seen anything of
the sort. Opa said that it was a blank cartridge shell that fell out of a weapon after each shot, and was
not dangerous in the slightest. He told me about his experiences during the First World War, and about the
danger of life ammunition that was only being used in Berlin for practice on closed off firing ranges. I had
no idea of what the war had been like, as it hadn't left any recognizable traces where I was living. As a
child, I didn't know of downtown area of the city, with all its ruins. In Zehlendorf I remember to have seen
2 or 3 ruins only. We were fortunate enough to be in the Grunewald and that was immensely reassuring for me.
I proudly took the cartridge shell back home, just like a winner's trophy, and placed it in the middle of
my small collection of plastic model "Wiking" cars. I couldn't stop looking at it from all different angles.
Even after a few days, there was still a faint smell of powder coming out of the blackened round opening at
the front. On the bottom of the shell, I could make out the letters "DEN" and the number "42". This indicated
where and in which year it had been made, in this case Denver in 1942, as I later discovered. So this blank
cartridge had been produced in the USA during the Second World War and had only just recently been fired
here in the Berlin's Grunewald.
I had been so fascinated by this particular shell, that I completely forgot to keep an eye out in the wood
for more blank cartridges. From that moment on, I could only think about one thing - are there any more out
there? As soon as school finished the next day, I persuaded my Opa to come out for a walk with me in the
Grunewald because I still didn't dare to go very far into the woods on my own. I had just one aim - search,
search, search! My eyes roamed the ground. I was successful! After a few trips I had managed, without too
much effort, to collect a considerable amount of shells; so many in fact, that I didn't know where to keep
them all. My Oma would complain: "My God, what's all this damn garbage you keep bringing back home, what do
you want to do with it all"? Well, I didn't know that either, all I knew was that I had to have them. Thanks
to my Opa's backing I was allowed to keep them as well. After having initially lined up, placed or laid out
the blanks next to one another, I then, due to a lack of space, stuck them into small, black metal clips
that also laid around in huge quantities. Eight blanks fitted into one clip. For my games, I put them back
into the small metal links and made long belts out of them. I became quite particular with time, and only
took the really shiny shells. I left the rest, many of which were blackened or tarnished. What nice toys!
I particularly respected full cartridges. They were sometimes to be found in clips that were still attached
to green cloth belts, so-called "bandoleers." These bandoleers, with the inscription "Blank, cal. 30, 48
cartridges, 8 RD Clips", had six small pockets, and they laid around everywhere, often hanging in the
branches of trees. Unfired blank cartridges had, at the tip, a shiny little red disc that reminded me of
blood because of its color. They were easy to find, but at first I wouldn't go near them. My fear was not
fully overcome until my Opa, on one occasion that I was with him, pressed in the little red disc with a
twig and turned over the cartridge. A bit of light gray powder trickled out, that was all. "Now they're
empty - as long as you don't hit the intact percussion cap with a hammer then nothing can happen," he
said with a slightly mischievous smile. Nonetheless, I was still satisfied for the moment to stick with
collecting the many shells that had already been fired and that you could easily tell apart from the
unfired shells, thanks to a small, round hollow on the bottom.
One day, I excitedly told my classmate all about what had learned of these treasures. In an almost
unimpressed manner, he told me that he'd heard that you could sell the shells that were made out of brass
to a second-hand or scrap dealer. That struck a chord, because at the time I was always broke. I didn't
get proper pocket money; neither did most of my friends. Sometimes, as a reward for a good school report,
Oma gave me a full discount card valued at an astounding 1.50 German D- Marks. I simply had to exchange
them in shops such as "Foerster", "Butter Beck", "Zachau", "Graser" or "Kaffee Otto". Boy, did I feel rich!
With ice cream treats such as "Kalter Kuss" (Cold Kiss) in its silver and red checked paper, available at
only 10 German pfennigs; or the same vanilla ice cream with chocolate icing in its silver and blue packaging,
almost as big as a packet of cigarettes, for just 20 pfennigs; I was spoiled for choice!
The most expensive ice cream, an "ice cream sundae", could be bought everywhere for 50 pfennigs. Of course
you could also buy ice cream by the scoop. A wonderful delicacy in a cone, wafer, or shell. In those years
one dollar had the value of approximately 4 German D-marks! Oma, at least, was sympathetic towards my sweet
tooth, and now again liked to eat something sweet herself. However, but as far as my Opa was concerned, all
sweets were unnecessary and superfluous. Other than that, I could finally go again at Sunday lunchtimes to
the children's showings at the nearby Onkel-Tom movie theater. For the ticket price of only 50 pfennigs, I
could see all the best American "Cowboy and Red Indian" films. Afterwards, all of us children would re-enact
the film plots, almost precisely, on the toboggan run or in the "Riemeisterfenn" swamp area. With increasing
enthusiasm we would slip into the various roles of the actors. The legendary actors John Wayne and Gary
Cooper remain unforgotten - we all really wanted to play them.
However, much to my regret, I only rarely got good school marks, and my "satisfactory" grades did not earn
me a reward from Oma. Now and then I could just about ease the ebb in my pocket with the deposit from
returnable bottles or with the few pfennigs that Oma gave me for regularly doing the shopping or other
little chores. In the truest sense of the word, I literally did walk for miles to get my hands on any bit
of cash. But even from the outset the money was never enough. My need for candies of any kind far
outstripped my funds. In the "Ladenstrasse", a colorful gathering of little Mom and Pop shops at the
"Onkel-Toms-Huette" subway station (U-Bahn), there were four places that lured me with magical powers.
Right at the top, at the gabled end, Mantke's bakery was to be found, and a few yards further along the
row of shops, the Wunicke bakery. What wonderful smells emerged from those bakeries where everything was
still baked on site. For only 10 pfennigs you could buy delicious cakes and pies made the previous day.
Giant Chelsea buns and enormous Danish pastries sat temptingly in the window. It was a real torment to have
to walk past them with no money. The 50 gram "Karina" milk chocolate bar represented for me the most utterly
delicious of my desires. Luckily, at the entrance to the row of shops, there were also a few small vending
machines. For 10 pfennigs they spat out sour sweets (drops) or small "swan" chocolate bars. Although these
weren't much bigger than an "After Eight" mint, each time I carefully broke them up into little pieces and
devoured each and every crumb. The fourth magical place on the Ladenstrasse was the toy shop "Everything
for Your Child", not far from the "Onkel-Tom" movie theater, which today houses a large supermarket. It was
in this shop that one could find all of the things that caused me many a sleepless night. Here, just like
my school friends, I brought every single cent that I hadn't spent on sweets. However, I often just stood
in front of the large shop window and pressed my nose flat against the glass. I had so many wishes, but it
was still such a long time until my birthday, which was unfortunately only three days before Christmas. But
I could look and I could dream - at least that didn't cost anything.
Unexpected profit
