By the time I was nine or ten years old, I actually dared to go into the Grunewald on my own, but it was
still some time before I finally got to watch the Americans practicing their firing. Several times I ran,
following the loudest shots, right up to behind the Avus where I then stood full of expectation.
Unfortunately, had to stay behind the huge fence of Keerans Range, the U.S. Army's rifle range in Berlin.
What a disappointment! I could hardly see anything from there, let alone get my hands on anything. Whenever
I then hurried off to a different spot where I could also make out the noise of maneuvers, there was either
nobody there anymore, or other brass collectors were already there working frantically. But of course we
learn from experience...
Soon came the day when I came across the soldiers on the edge of the trail in their positions. They were
all laid flat on the ground, hidden behind thick bushes. One of them quite clearly put his finger to his
mouth. From a safe distance, I then waited for something to happen. The excitement was overwhelming, I
nervously bit my fingernails. What a heartbeat !
Suddenly shots were fired! The soldiers shouted loudly amongst each other, some of them were laughing.
About twenty men from the other team ran towards the positions, firing wildly. Enormous flashes came out
from the muzzles of the M1 Garand rifles. I now saw for the first time, the expended cartridge shells and
the clips falling with a "clink" sound from the rifles. Even louder was the rattle of the Browning M1919-A4
machine gun which was mounted onto a tripod just a few yards away from me, firing unrelentingly at the
storming attackers. The gun had a rather thick barrel which was slightly pointed towards the front end,
with lots of round ventilation holes. At the end of the machine gun there was a bulky pistol butt. The
cocking handle on the right-hand side darted back and forth when the gun was firing. As the empty shells
tumbled to the ground, a bright cloud of smoke, smelling of gunpowder vapor, built up around the gun. Below
the cloud of smoke I could see an enormous pile of shells which two bigger boys hastily divided up between
them shortly afterwards. As a little boy, I didn't stand a chance of getting my hands on anything, as they
immediately and unequivocally made clear to me. They threatened to fight anyone who came anywhere near the
loot that they were claiming all for themselves. But they could count themselves lucky that no adults
appeared to lay claim to their find. As I quickly learned, the survival of the strongest was a widely
practiced law. But there were still lots more empty shells lying scattered around on the ground, so many
that I didn't know where to stow away all of them.
I cannot describe how impressed I was by what I had witnessed! All I could do was run about aimlessly.
It hardly seemed possible, on that day, to be able to watch and pick up at the same time - I was far too
fascinated by events. There really was a big difference between hearing the firing from a distance and
actually being "right in the middle".
In all the excitement, my pants were hanging almost down to my knees and my pitch-black hands looked just
like the hands of a coal-miner. I soon realized that the Americans were often playing a kind of "Red Indians"
game during their practices, just like us kids. Whenever they'd used up all their ammunition, the GIs
shouted out loudly at all different pitches, "bang, bang, bang"! You could have doubled up with laughter!
From then on, I came across U.S. soldiers more and more frequently. I could see them walking towards me on
the sidewalks or wood trails. Some of them carried heavy .30 caliber Browning machine guns horizontally
across their shoulders. Even from a distance I could recognize the ammo-belts that were slung over their
chests. The brass shone like gold in the sunlight. It was now only a matter of time before the blanks on
those long belts would be fired. I just had to stick with them, not let them out of my sight, and stand my
ground with those annoying competitors. I had long stopped feeling scared and I perched, just like other
kids, right in their positions. Whilst the shots were being fired, I immediately grabbed at the shells,
which I often had to drop again because they were still extremely hot. I got many a large blister, but
"Red Indians feels no pain". Although the soldiers all looked the same to me in their uniforms and with
their faces painted green, I still thought that I came across one or two of them again and again. They
always welcomed me like an old friend with a 'Hello'! It was through them that I learned my first English
words, and I was pleased that we were finally starting to learn English at school.
Story of the 'pig'