Lothrop Stoddard – katana17

Into the Darkness : Chapter 14: Behind the Winter-Help

admin — Thu, 23 Jan 2014 08:13:59 +0000

Into the Darkness:

An Uncensored Report from

Inside the Third Reich at War

by Lothrop Stoddard

Chapter 14: Behind the Winter-Help

As the damp chill of the north European autumn deepens into dark, cold winter, there appear increasingly the manifold activities of the Winterhilf in plain English, the WinterHelp. Once a fortnight, every city, town, and village in the Reich seethes with brown shirted Storm Troopers carrying redpainted cannisters. These are the Winter Help collection boxes. The Brown Shirts go everywhere. You cannot sit in a restaurant or beerhall but what, sooner or later, a pair of them will work through the place, rattling their cannisters ostentatiously in the faces of customers. And I never saw a German formally refuse to drop in his mite, even though the contribution might have been less than the equivalent of one American cent.

During these periodic money raising campaigns, all sorts of dodges are employed. On busy street corners comedians, singers, musicians, sailors, gather a crowd by some amusing skit, at the close of which the Brown Shirts collect. People buy tiny badges to show they have contributed badges good only for that particular campaign. One time they may be an artificial flower; next time a miniature dagger, and so forth. The Winter Help campaign series reaches its climax shortly before Christmas in the socalled Day of National Solidarity. On that notable occasion the Big Guns of the Nazi Party sally forth with their collection boxes to do their bit. I am told that it is considered quite an honor to drop an offering into the cannister wielded by so redoubtable a personage as, say, Hermann Goering.

These collection box campaigns have been going on every winter since the Nazis came to power. So has another picturesque feature the Winter Help Lottery.

The sale of these lottery tickets is not restricted to certain periods; it goes on continuously through the entire autumn and winter season. They are sold by men in rather attractive uniforms with red banded caps and dovegray capes. Like the Brown Shirts, these lottery vendors cover every public place, even the best hotels.

The tickets are enclosed in tightly sealed orange envelopes stacked in rows on a little tray. The vendor approaches you, salutes politely, and offers his wares. Should you wish to buy, you pick an envelope at random and pay him fifty pfennigs half a Reichsmark, which is worth somewhat over ten cents. Unlike his Brown Shirt colleagues, the vendor is not insistent and the public does not feel constrained to buy.

There’s a good feature about this Winter Help Lottery you know right away if you haven’t won. So purchasers promptly tear open the envelope and take out their folded ticket. Nearly always they are confronted with a large blue Nicht, which means “No” and shows they haven’t a chance. Needless to say, that’s what I drew when I tried my luck. But plenty of persons seem to play the lottery often. In gay restaurants it’s quite a game for a whole group of diners to buy envelopes and greet each loser with peals of laughter the vendor standing by and enjoying the fun.

However, buyers aren’t always losers. In the first place, out of the 6,000,000 tickets which form a series there are nearly 350,000 which carry small prizes called “premiums” ranging from 1 to 100 Marks. These minor premiums are paid by the vendor on the spot. Above these come the “prizes,” which range all the way up to a 5,000 Mark Grand Prize. However, those prizes are not paid offhand. What you get is the right to a prizewinning number in the lottery drawing which will be held three months hence. The prizes and premiums total an even 1,000,000 Marks. The cost of the tickets is 3,000,000 Marks. Since the lottery vendors are all volunteer workers who give their services and get no commission, the net “take” of the Winter Help from several lottery series sold during the season totals a handsome sum.

Still other moneymaking devices exist, the best known of them being the One Dish Plan. Each month during the autumn and winter a certain Sunday is set apart as the sacrificial day. On that Sunday, every patriotic German is supposed to contribute to the Winter Help the cash difference between the cost of a normal Sunday dinner and that of a single course meal. In all public eating places nothing else is served during the noon hours, so foreigners also must comply. The cost is trifling for the meal itself, but I should hate to have it as a steady diet, consisting as it does of a plateful of stewed onions, cabbage, and potatoes, graced by a lone miniature meatball compounded of the cheapest grade of hamburger. In private homes families are not legally compelled to restrict themselves to one course meals. They can actually eat as they choose. But they are practically compelled to contribute their cash offering in any case. A Brown Shirt always appears at the door, and the offering is assessed on tariffrates proportionate to the family’s social status and known living standards.

The foreigner doesn’t learn that last item unless he happens to have German friends who tell him things. All he usually knows about is the box collections, the lottery vendors, and the sad experience of a one dish lunch in a restaurant or hotel. He may learn that annual contributions to the WinterHelp average well over 400,000,000 Reichsmarks nearly $200,000,000 at the official rate of exchange. The foreigner may marvel that so prodigious a sum could be raised by the methods he has observed. As a matter of fact, it isn’t. Most of the money comes in through a carefully worked out schedule of contributions assessed on corporations, business firms, and individuals from the wealthiest down to all but the poorest peasants and laborers.

Your Nazi acquaintances probably won’t mention this to you. If they do, they will almost certainly tell you these are merely patriotic suggestions for voluntary contributions, properly graded. Technically, they are telling the truth, since WinterHelp offerings are legally “voluntary.” In the first days of the Nazi regime, quite a few persons took this literally and refused to contribute. That, however, was likely to be followed by unpleasant consequences; so prescribed sharing has become well nigh universal.

Here, again, we encounter what I have already stated to be a cardinal aspect of Nazi Germany the fact that what the foreigner sees and casually learns may be only a slight indication of what goes on behind the scenes.

So much for the way Winter Help funds are raised. How are they spent? That is a controversial point. Nazis assure you that these huge sums are efficiently managed and all go for the purposes intended by the donors. They point out that most of the work is done by unpaid volunteers, so the administrative overhead should be small. This may be true, but there is no way of checking such assertions because no detailed, audited balance sheets are published. Some foreign observers tell you that Winter Help funds have been diverted to other purposes, much as the still vaster Labor Front funds are presumed to have been, according to some assertions by foreign critics of the Nazi regime.

I do not know where the truth lies in this matter, so I merely raise the point in order to make a balanced picture. From what I actually saw and learned, it seems to me that much of the Winter Help funds is actually spent on the poor and needy, and that the institution does a lot of good in many ways. So let us take a look at the Winter Help to see what it is, how it works, and what it accomplishes.

The Winter Help began in the autumn of 1933 the first year of the Nazi regime. It was a terrible time, with over 7,000,000 registered unemployed and 17,000,000 in dire need. This latter figure included both unemployed and unemployables, especially the aged and the very young. The previous winter, the last under the Weimar Republic, had been grim. The Government dole had, to be sure, enabled the poor to keep body and soul together, but that was about all; and the outlook for the coming winter was equally gloomy.

Then the Fuehrer spoke. His word was:

“No one shall suffer from hunger and cold!”

So Hitler announced a new organization, run by the Party, to be known as the Winter Help. It was not a substitute for Government aid; it was an addition to that aid, designed to bridge the gap between the low minimum of State charity and a somewhat more tolerable standard of life. The aim was to provide coal and garments sufficient to keep a household fairly warm and decently clothed; to supply a bit more food; to distribute Christmas dinners, trees, and children’s toys at the beloved Yuletide. It even promised to step in and relieve unexpected accidents and misfortunes for which the victims were in no wise to blame.

That very first season, the Winter Help “delivered the goods.” The Party got behind it to the last man, woman, and child. Over a million volunteer workers donated their services. Vast amounts of food, fuel, and clothing were mobilized and distributed. The hearts of the poor were cheered and warmed towards the new regime. That was the intention; for the Winter Help was officially described as:

“The instrument which enables us to make the most comprehensive appeal to the spirit of national solidarity.”

In short, an extremely effective form of domestic propaganda.

The more I studied the Winter Help, the more it appeared to me as an amazing cross between the Salvation Army and Tammany Hall. It would be unfair to put down the whole business as just coldblooded politics. All the goodwill mobilized, the unselfish effort donated, the goods distributed to deserving persons those things are real, no matter what the attendant political motive. Think what it means to numberless “forgotten men” and women, to be thereby lifted a bit above the squalor line; to have their drab lives unexpectedly brightened, especially at Christmas time. Perhaps all the poor do not share equally in those benefits; perhaps good Party members get the best of what’s going, while exCommunists are often overlooked. Nevertheless, so many poor people get something that the effect on popular feeling is great and cumulative. And the tendency must be toward winning the goodwill of the populace for the Nazi regime. It is the little things that count in getting and holding popular favor. Tammany in New York learned that long ago; and the Nazis are as clever and far more efficient than Tammany ever dreamed of being.

What we may term the Tammany Salvation Army technique comes out in everything the Winter Help does. Picture to yourselves a typical case. A Winter Help volunteer enters a sordid tenement dwelling in the poorest section of Berlin’s East End. He or she brings the family a basket of food, a packet of clothing, a tiny Christmas tree, or fuel tickets good at the nearest coaldealer’s.

“Good morning!” is the cheery opening. “I bring you this with the Fuehrer’s Greetings!”

Then comes a bit of friendly chat. On leaving, the visitor extends an arm in salute with the inevitable: Heil Hitler! Is it not well nigh inevitable that the answering “Heil” comes spontaneously from grateful hearts? Such is the Winter Help and what it signifies. Now let us go on to consider the even larger socialservice organization of which the Winter Help is itself organically a part. This vast institution bears the appalling title of Nationalsozialistischevolkswohlfahrt! Broken down into plain English, that Teutonic jawbreaker means National Socialist People’s Welfare. It’s even too much for the Germans, so they always speak of it as NSV.

NSV, though essentially a Party enterprise, is technically a voluntary organization supported by nearly 11,000,000 members who pay dues with a minimum of one Reichsmark per month. It has over 1,000,000 active workers, of whom only about 20,000 are paid, these being trained social service specialists in various lines. The vast majority of NSV workers contribute their spare time, and they do it generously many of them as much as three hours per day. Like everything else in Nazi Germany, NSV is elaborately organized from a supreme headcenter in Berlin down through regional, provincial, and local subcenters until it reaches the ultimate unit the socalled “block” of forty or fifty families. There can be no doubt that NSV is generally popular; otherwise it would be difficult to conceive of 11,000,000 persons paying regular dues and over 1,000,000 contributing so generously of their time the year round. Mere compulsion could not bring that about. What, then, is the reason? The answer to that query involves an understanding of a social setup and attitude toward life which is radically different from ours. First of all we should realize that NSV, like its Winter Help affiliate, is not a substitute for Governmental assistance to the poor and needy. In Germany, total destitution has long been rare, thanks to the system of social welfare begun under the old Empire more than half a century ago, and extended under both the Weimar Republic and the present Nazi regime. Most Germans are thus legally protected against dire poverty and downright starvation. NSV supplements State aid in various ways. And it does so, not in our sense of “charity,” but as a duty which the socialized nation, the almost mystical Gemeinschaft, owes to each of its members.

Another important point to be understood is that, despite all the assistance which it gives to the poor and weak, NSV is even more interested in helping the fit and strong to be fitter and stronger. It seeks to energize the individual by making him constantly feel that he is organically part of the whole nation, and that he literally has the whole nation behind him so long as he in turn does his duty and seeks to serve the nation of which he is an integral part.

In the Nazi social service system, the Winter Help has specialized functions. It is concerned chiefly with the relief of temporary difficulties and transient weaknesses or breakdowns of morale. NSV takes care of the long pull and deals with social problems which are solvable only in the remote future.

One of the axioms of National Socialism is that the family, rather than the individual, is the true unit of society. For this reason, NSV tries in various ways to integrate individuals into healthy, prosperous, fruitful families. Hence its special efforts for the welfare of mothers and children. Its largest and most important section is that known as Mutter und Kind. The size of this special organization can be visualized when we learn that it has some 26,000 offices covering every part of the Reich, with medical staffs and assisted by about 230,000 matrons of homes, kindergarten governesses, communal sisters, and nurses. Their activities are manifold, though their aim is not clinical; rather is it investigative and educational. Mother and Child stations are neither hospitals nor sanatoria. When bad conditions are detected, they are turned over to hospitals or State charities. But mothers by the million have visited these stations, or station agents have visited mothers in their homes. For instance, all infants up to the age of two years are medically examined and the parents are given advice as to proper care and feeding. Through affiliated organizations, the stations complete their preventive and educational work by enabling mothers and children most in need to have special care, take vacations, go to kindergartens, and so forth.

A striking instance of the meticulous way in which NSV seeks to foster the public health is its special subsection called Bettenaktion. Medical research has established the fact that nothing is more important to health and personal efficiency than good, restful sleep. Subsection “Bed Action” sees to it that each individual has his own bed and a comfortable, sanitary one, at that. In the past few years, it is officially stated that fully 1,000,000 beds have been distributed free of charge to persons unable to pay for them.

Another important field of service is the raising to normal status of distressed or depressed areas. Certain remote regions, such as the mountainous districts of Lower Bavaria and the Eiffel hill country in the Rhineland, were chronically impoverished and unable to improve their condition out of their own meager resources. NSV pours aid of all kinds into these abnormal districts until today, according to official accounts, some of them have been quite transformed.

Like the other quasi public institutions of the Third Reich, NSV gets out a tremendous volume of educative literature about its own activities. Booklets, pamphlets, illustrated sheets, and small charts are printed and distributed wholesale to the general public, either free or at very slight expense. Its Berlin headquarters maintains a permanent exhibition including large illuminated wallmaps, colored charts, miniature models, and a stereopticon lecture lasting nearly an hour. Its foreign relations representative, Erich Haasemann showed me through, explained in detail, and invited me to visit some of its Berlin activities. The most interesting of these was its distribution center, which I visited next morning.

This center is housed in a rambling old building several stories high in the market district near Alexanderplatz. It is thus handy to the working class quarters.

Here needy persons come with their distribution certificates a sort of chit enabling them to get required articles, both clothing and furniture. They get these chits on recommendation from their Blokwart, the official who looks after each block of forty families. Incidentally, there are nearly 450,000 such units in Greater Berlin.

The Blokwart makes it his business to know intimately the circumstances of each family in his unit. He visits them frequently in their homes, and to him they make known their troubles and requests for aid. Here is how it works: an outdoor laborer needs a new sheepskin lined jacket. He shows his old one to the Blokwart, who sees it is no longer serviceable.

“That’s right,” says the Blokwart, “you’ve got to have a new jacket if you’re going to be efficient on that job of yours these cold winter days. For you to get sick and perhaps land in the hospital would be bad business for the nation. So here you are. Go and pick one out at the center tomorrow after working hours.”

Down goes our working man, presents his chit, and is shown to the proper department, where hundreds of jackets, of all sizes, hang on long racks. Like all lines, they are in somewhat different styles and in diverse colors. This is to avoid uniformity in appearance. That aids morale by satisfying personal tastes and heightening the wearer’s self respect. If all NSV recipients were dressed alike, they would have a depressingly “institutional” look. It is really extraordinary how such psychological factors have been carefully thought out! I roamed around that warehouse for an hour, looking at huge stocks of everything from clothes and shoes to beds and baby carriages. Everything seemed to be of good quality, well made, and of surprisingly tasteful appearance. I was asked to note that there were full lines of everything, including even the most unusual “out sizes” which might not even be made commercially, much less carried in ordinary store stocks. For instance, I was shown a pair of boots so huge that it did not seem possible a human being could have such big feet. Nevertheless, I was told that a few did exist. Those persons were known. So NSV was prepared for them.

NSV does not manufacture its own supplies. They are bought in the open market, but they must be made by local manufacturers. Prices are thus not strictly competitive at least, on a national scale. The idea is to spread work and keep local money at home.

These are only the highlights of a subject with many ramifications. However, they may suffice to give a general idea of the importance of NSV in the Nazi scheme of things and in its hold upon the people. Such social services tend to win popular support for the Nazi regime and reconcile the masses to conditions which otherwise might breed discontent and even revolutionary unrest.

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Version 7: May 25, 2022 – Re-uploaded images and PDF. Improved formatting.

Version 3: Nov 27, 2014 – Added PDF of post.

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Version 1: Published Jan 24, 2014 – Text added.

Into the Darkness : Chapter 13: Women of the Third Reich

admin — Thu, 23 Jan 2014 08:00:41 +0000

Into the Darkness:

An Uncensored Report from

Inside the Third Reich at War

by Lothrop Stoddard

Chapter 13: Women of the Third Reich

The leader of the women’s wing of the Nazi regime is Frau Gertrud Scholtz-Klink, [1] who set forth that aspect of the Third Reich in an interview she gave me. This conversation came as the climax to several studies I had made of various women’s activities under the guidance of purposeful lady subordinates. Those manifold activities are managed by the Reichsfrauenfuehrung, a compound word which means the Directing Center of German Women’s organizations. The combined membership of these societies totals fully 16,000,000. From this central point in Berlin, directive guidance reaches out to every portion of the Reich.

It was a bitter mid-winter afternoon when I hopped from my taxi and scurried for the entrance of national headquarters, an extensive building situated in Berlin’s West End. The air was full of driving snow whipped by a high wind. I was glad to find shelter in the warm entrance hall, though I could scarcely make my way through a litter of hand luggage and a crowd of women bundled up as though for a trip to the Arctic regions. I was later informed that they were a party of trained nurses and social workers bound for Poland where they would care for a convoy of German-speaking immigrants being repatriated from the Russian-occupied zone. Mute testimony, this, of the multifarious activities of the Reichsfrauenfuehrung, alike in peace and in war.

[Image] Gertrud Scholtz-Klink later known as Maria Stuckebrock (9 Feb,1902 – 24 Mar, 1999) was a fervent NSDAP member and leader of the National Socialist Women’s League (NS-Frauenschaft) [2] in NS Germany.

A dynamic lady, whose mother is an American, Dr. Marta Unger soon appeared and guided me up stairs and through corridors to her chief’s outer office. Presently we were admitted to the inner sanctum, a pleasant reception-room, tastefully furnished. As we entered, the famous women’s leader stood awaiting us.

Frau Scholtz-Klink was rather a surprise to me. I had often seen pictures of her, but they were not good likenesses. She must photograph badly, for they all made her out to be a serious, aloof person well into middle life. When you actually meet her, the first impression she makes on you is one of youthful energy. She was then just thirty-six. A compact woman of medium height, she walks to meet you with an easy, swinging gait and gives you a firm handshake. She is quite informal and as she warms to her subject, her face lights up beneath its crown of abundant blonde hair wound about her head in Marguerite braids. She never gets too serious and laughs easily.

I started the conversation by telling her some of the organizational activities I had seen, and asked her what was the basic idea on which they were conducted. Unhesitatingly, she answered:

“Encouraging initiative. You can’t just command women. You should give them guiding principles of action. Then, within this framework, let them function with the thought that they themselves are the creators and fulfillers of those ideas.”

This rather surprised me, and I told her so, remarking that in America there is a widespread impression that woman’s position is less free in National Socialist Germany than it was under the Weimar Republic, and that this is especially true regarding women’s professional opportunities and political rights.

Frau Scholtz-Klink smiled, nodded understandingly, and came back with the quick retort:

“That depends on what you mean by political rights. We believe that anyone, man or woman, thinks politically who puts the people’s welfare ahead of personal advantage. What does it matter if five or six women are members of Parliament, as was the case in the Weimar regime? We think it vastly more important that, today, sixteen million women are enrolled in our organization and that half a million women leaders have a weighty voice in everything which concerns women and children, from the Central Government and the Party down to the smallest village.” “How about professional opportunities,” I put in. “Are German women still in the universities and in lines like higher scientific work?” “They certainly are,” she replied, “and we are glad to see them there. It is true that when we first came to power seven years ago, some National Socialists were opposed to this because they had been prejudiced by the exaggerately feminist types of women who were so prominent under the Weimar Republic. Today, however, this prejudice has practically vanished. If occasionally we run across some man with an anti-feminist chip on his shoulder, we just laugh about him and consider him a funny old has-been out of touch with the times.” “That’s interesting,” I ventured.

“But it’s easy to understand,” rejoined Frau Scholtz-Klink, “when you recall our basic attitude and policy. Unlike many women’s organizations elsewhere, we don’t fight for what is often called ‘women’s rights.’ Instead, we work hand-in-hand with our menfolk for common aims and purposes. We think that rivalry and hostility between the sexes are as foolish and mutually harmful as they are scientifically unsound. Men and women have somewhat different capacities, but these should always be regarded as complementing and supplementing each other — organic parts of a larger and essentially harmonious whole.” “Then woman’s part in the Third Reich, while consciously feminine, is not feminist?” was my next query.

“Precisely,” she nodded. “We consider it absolutely vital that members of a woman’s organization always remain womanly and do not lose touch with their male colleagues. How long do you think I could stand it if I were shut up here with several hundred woman all the time? Why, I wouldn’t stay here three days! No, no, I can assure you our organization isn’t run like a nunnery. We foregather frequently with our masculine collaborators in informal meetings where we chat and joke together over our weightiest problems.” “Tell me a bit more about your organization,” I suggested.

Frau Scholtz-Klink thought for a moment; then proceeded:

“We National Socialist women didn’t start out with any cut-and-dried program or preconceived theories. When we came to power seven years ago, our country was in terrible shape and we had very little to work with. So we began in the simplest way, busying ourselves with immediate human needs. All the elaborate structure you see today has been a natural evolution — a spontaneous growth.” “How about your outstanding personalities?” I inquired.

Smilingly she shook her head. “We distinctly play down the personalities,” she deprecated. “In our opinion, thinking of person implies that one is not thinking of principle. Take me, for example. I assure you that I really don’t care whether, fifty years hence, when our present goal has been splendidly attained, people remember just who it was that started the ball rolling and helped it on its way.” “What are your relations with women’s organizations in other lands?” I queried.

“We are not internationalists as the term is often used abroad,” Frau Scholtz-Klink answered. “We concern ourselves primarily with our own problems. Of course we are only too glad to be in contact with women from other countries. Indeed, we have a fine guest-house here in Berlin where women visitors can come and stay as long as they like, seeing and studying all we do. If they approve, so much the better. We have no patents. In this sense, therefore, I believe we have a most effective women’s organization. But we have not yet seen our way clear to joining the International Women’s Council.”

Behind that official statement of the viewpoint of Nazi womanhood lies one of the most interesting stories in the evolution of the Third Reich.

Under the old Empire, conservative views prevailed in the field of domestic relations. The man was very much the head of his family. Woman fulfilled her traditional role of wife and mother. Kaiser Wilhelm described woman’s sphere as bounded by the:

“Three K’s, Kinder, Kueche, Kirche — children, kitchen, church.”

Most of his subjects apparently agreed with him. Some sharp dissent there was, and it was not legally repressed. But these dissenters were a relatively small minority.

When the Empire perished, domestic relations were in a turmoil. Liberal and radical ideas on woman’s status became common, all markedly individualistic in character. Women were given the ballot and went actively into politics. Advanced feminist types appeared, intent on developing their personalities and seeking careers outside the home. The “emancipated” woman seemed to be setting the tone.

These radical trends might have survived in an atmosphere of political stability and economic prosperity. But the times were neither stable nor prosperous. When the world depression hit Germany at the close of the 1920’s, conditions became desperate. In this chaotic atmosphere, National Socialism waxed strong and finally prevailed.

One of the first tasks of the Nazi revolution was to sweep away all the new ideas concerning domestic relations. Adolf Hitler had pronounced views on the subject. In one of his campaign pronouncements he stated:

“There is no fight for man which is not also a fight for woman, and no fight for woman which is not also a fight for man. We know no men’s rights or women’s rights. We recognize only one right for both sexes: a right which is also a duty — to live, work, and fight together for the nation.”

[Image] Frau Scholtz-Klink at the podium giving a speech [3]

In this forthright attitude, Hitler apparently had a large section of German women on his side. From the very start of the Nazi movement, women took a prominent part and were numbered among the Fuehrer’s most devoted followers. These women declared they wanted neither “equality” nor “women’s rights.” What they were after was a home. For the mass of German women, “emancipation” had meant little except hard work at meager wages, and the idea went completely sour with them when economic depression made countless unemployed men dependent upon their womenfolk. Thus, any program which promised confidently to change this abnormal situation could count on enthusiastic support from many women as well as from men.

That was just what National Socialism did promise with its pledge to re-establish the traditional order of domestic relations. It painted an alluring picture of a regime of manly men and womanly women — the manly men as provider and fighter; the womanly woman as wife, mother, and guardian of the domestic hearth.

According to Nazi economic theory, woman’s natural career is marriage. By following the delusive path of Liberal-Marxist materialism, said Hitler, woman herself had been the chief victim. Having invaded business, industry, and the professions, women threw men out of jobs and became their competitors instead of their helpmeets and companions. In so doing, women not only robbed themselves of their crowning happiness (a home and children) but also became largely responsible for the economic crisis which ultimately left women financially worse off than before. When both men and women turned into producers, there were not enough consumers left to consume what they produced.

[Image] Gertrud Scholtz-Klink with Adolf Hitler

That was the Nazi theory. And it caught on like wildfire. Nazi women orators denounced the Weimar regime as having degraded German womanhood into “parasites, pacifists, and prostitutes.” It was these feminine zealots who converted their sisters wholesale. The “Woman’s Front” of the Nazi movement soon became one of its most influential branches. And the interesting point is that it was run by the women themselves.

The activities of this Woman’s Front are complex and far-reaching. They overlap into many fields which we have already surveyed, such as the feminine sectors of the Labor Service and the Hitler Youth, together with phases of the great social-service enterprise known as NSV, which we will describe in the next chapter.

Its earliest enterprise was the Muetterdienst, or Mothers’ Service — a network of adult schools giving courses of instruction in infant care, general hygiene, home nursing, cooking, sewing, and the beautification of the home itself. Permanent quarters are established in all cities and large towns, while itinerant teachers conduct courses in villages and the remotest countryside. The system has now reached throughout the Reich, and several million women have passed through this domestic education — an intensive course with classes limited to twenty-five persons, since instruction takes the form, not of theoretical lectures, but of practical teaching by actual demonstration in which the pupils take part. Alongside these courses for housewives are others for prospective brides.

Most foreign observers agreed that this domestic education has helped many German women to be better wives and mothers. I myself investigated the large Mother School established in Wedding, a Berlin suburb inhabited by working folk. This institution also serves as a sort of normal school where teachers are trained. I met and talked with the members of the current class, drawn from all parts of Germany. They appeared to be earnest, capable young women, well chosen for their future jobs.

Another major field of service is in industry, where trained “confidence women” actually work in factories, stores, and offices employing much female labor. These women are thus in personal touch with working conditions. Naturally, such women are the best sort of propagandists for the Party and its ideas. Still other fields of activity might be described if space permitted in a general survey like this. At least half a million women are actively engaged in these various lines of endeavor.

This, of course, is the answer which Frau Scholtz-Klink and her colleagues make to the charge that National Socialism has driven women out of public life. They claim that it has changed the nature of those activities to more fruitful channels. As a matter of fact, the whole economic trend in the Third Reich, by transforming mass unemployment into an acute labor shortage, has driven women into all sorts of activities outside the home circle — which is certainly not what Hitler promised his feminine followers. It is estimated that nearly 12,000,000 women were gainfully employed in the Reich when war broke out, and that figure will undoubtedly be vastly exceeded as men are continually mobilized for war service. Yet, in these new developments, it is probable that the Nazi attitude and policy will remain basically unaltered.

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Footnotes:

[1] Gertrud Scholtz-Klink later known as Maria Stuckebrock (9 February 1902 – 24 March 1999) was a fervent NSDAP member and leader of the National Socialist Women’s League (NS-Frauenschaft) in NS Germany.

She married a factory worker at the age of eighteen and had six children before he died.

Scholtz-Klink joined the NS Party and by 1929 became leader of the women’s section in Berlin. In 1932, Scholtz-Klink married Guenther Scholtz, a country doctor (divorced in 1938).

When Adolf Hitler came to power in 1933, he appointed Scholtz-Klink as Reich’s Women’s Führerin and head of the NS Women’s League. A good orator, her main task was to promote male superiority, the joys of home labour and the importance of child-bearing. In one speech, she pointed out that;

“the mission of woman is to minister in the home and in her profession to the needs of life from the first to last moment of man’s existence.”

Despite her own position, Scholtz-Klink spoke against the participation of women in politics, and took the female politicians in Germany of the Weimar Republic as a bad example, saying, “Anyone who has seen the Communist and Social Democratic women scream on the street and the parliament, realize that such an activity is not something which is done by a true woman”. She claimed that for a woman to be involved in politics, she would either have to “become like a man”, which would “shame her sex”, or “behave like a woman”, which would prevent her from achieving anything.

In July 1936, Scholtz-Klink was appointed as head of the Woman’s Bureau in the German Labor Front, with the responsibility of persuading women to work for the benefit of the Nazi government. In 1938, she argued that;

“the German woman must work and work, physically and mentally she must renounce luxury and pleasure”.

Scholtz-Klink was usually left out of the more important meetings in the male-dominated society of the Third Reich, and was considered to be a figurehead. She did, however, have the influence over women in the party as Hitler had over everyone else.

[Image] The combined families of Scholtz-Klink and her third husband August Heissmeyer

By 1940, Scholtz-Klink was married to her third husband SS-Obergruppenführer August Heissmeyer, and made frequent trips to visit women at Political Concentration Camps.

Post-war life

At the end of World War II Scholtz-Klink and Heissmeyer fled from the Battle of Berlin. After the fall of the Third Reich, in the summer of 1945, she was briefly detained in a Soviet prisoner of war camp near Magdeburg, but escaped shortly after. With the assistance of Princess Pauline of Württemberg, she and her third husband went into hiding in Bebenhausen near Tübingen. They spent the subsequent three years under the aliases of Heinrich and Maria Stuckebrock.

On 28 February 1948, the couple were identified and arrested. A French military court sentenced Scholtz-Klink to 18 months in prison on the charge of forging documents. In May 1950, a review of her sentence classified her as the “main culprit” and sentenced her to additional 30 months. In addition, the court imposed a fine and banned her from political and trade union activity, journalism and teaching for ten years.

After her release from prison in 1953, Sholtz-Klink settled back in Bebenhausen.

In her 1978 book Die Frau im Dritten Reich (“The Woman in the Third Reich”), Scholtz-Klink demonstrated her continuing support for the National Socialist ideology. She once again upheld her position on National Socialism in her interview with historian Claudia Koonz in the early 1980s.

She died on 24 March 1999 in Bebenhausen, Germany.

Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gertrud_Scholtz-Klink

[2] The National Socialist Women’s League (German: Nationalsozialistische Frauenschaft, abbreviated “NS-Frauenschaft”) was the women’s wing of the NS Party. It was founded in October 1931 as a fusion of several nationalist and National Socialist women’s associations.

The Frauenschaft was subordinated to the national party leadership (Reichsleitung); girls and young women were the purview of the Bund Deutscher Mädel (BDM). From February 1934 to the end of World War II in 1945, the NS-Frauenschaft was led by Reich’s Women’s Leader (Reichsfrauenführerin) Gertrud Scholtz-Klink (1902–1999). It put out a biweekly magazine, the NS-Frauen-Warte.

Its activities included instruction in the use of German-manufactured products, such as butter and rayon, in place of imported ones, as part of the self-sufficiency program, and classes for brides and schoolgirls. During wartime, it also provided refreshments at train stations, collected scrap metal and other materials, ran cookery and other classes, and allocated the domestics conscripted in the east to large families. Propaganda organizations depended on it as the primary spreader of propaganda to women.

The NS-Frauenschaft reached a total membership of 2 million by 1938, the equivalent of 40% of total party membership.

The German National Socialist Women’s League Children’s Group was known as “Kinderschar”.

Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_Socialist_Women’s_League

[3] Speech given by:

FRAU GERTRUD SCHOLTZ-KLINK

Reich Women’s Leader

When National Socialism became the ruling power in Germany (1933), we women realized that it was our duty to contribute our share to the Leader’s reconstruction programme side by side with men. We did not say much about it, but started to work at once. Our first concern was to help all those mothers who had suffered great hardships during the War and the post-war period and all those other women who — as mothers — have now to adjust themselves to the demands of the new age.

Acting in accordance with the recognition of these facts, we first created the Reich Mothers’ Service (Reichsmütterdienst), the functions of which are set forth in Article I of the regulations governing it:

The training of mothers is animated by the spirit of national solidarity and by the conviction that they can be of very great service to the nation and the State. The object of such training is to develop the physical and intellectual efficiency of mothers, to make them appreciate the great duties incumbent upon them, to instruct them in the upbringing and education of their children, and to qualify them for their domestic and economic tasks.

In order to provide such training, several courses of instruction have been drawn up, each of which deals with one particular subject only, e.g., infant care, general hygiene, sick nursing at home, children’s education, cooking, sewing, etc. These courses are fixtures in all towns with a population exceeding 50,000, whilst itinerant teachers conduct similar ones in the smaller towns and in the country. Every German woman over 18 can join them, irrespective of her religious, political or other views. The maximum number of members has been limited to 25 for each course, because the instruction given does not consist of theoretical lectures, but takes the form of practical teaching to working groups, where questions will be asked and answered.

Since the establishment of the Reichsmütterdienst, i.e., between April 1st, 1934, and October 1st, 1937, some 1,179,000 married and unmarried women have been thus instructed in 56,400 courses, conducted by over 3,000 teachers of whom about 1,200 are employed full-time, whilst the remaining 2,300 (also possessing the necessary qualifications) act in an honorary capacity or in that of part-time instructresses.

Our next concern was with those millions of German women who, day after day, attend to their heavy duties in factories. We look upon it as most important to make them realise that they, too, are the representatives of their nation. They, too, must take pride in their work and must be able to say:

“I have a useful duty to fulfil; and the work I do is an essential part of the work performed by the whole nation.”

With this end in view, we have created the Women’s Section of the German Labour Front (Frauenamt der Deutschen Arbeitsfront), which has now a membership of over 8,000,000. Foreign critics have frequently stated that German women have no chance of earning their livelihood by working in industrial or other undertakings. I therefore take this opportunity of emphasising that more than 11,500,000 women are employed in the various professions and occupations; the Women’s Section of the German Labour Front attending to their interests. Moreover, we are of the opinion that a woman will always find it possible to secure paid employment provided that she is strong enough to do the work demanded of her. This applies to women workers of all categories, irrespective of whether the work is of the physical or intellectual kind. It is therefore the business of the Frauenamt to ensure that women are not employed in any capacity that might prove detrimental to their womanhood and to give them all the protection to which they are specifically entitled.

In order to translate these ideas into practice, the Frauenamt has proceeded to appoint a “social industrial woman worker” (soziale Betriebsarbeiterin) for every undertaking in which a considerable number of women are employed. The functions to be exercised by these Betriebsarbeiterinnen are of a general and a special kind. They have to see to it that all women employed in the same undertaking look upon their own interests as identical with those of the latter and that a proper spirit of comradeship grows up among them.

They are assisted in their task by the works’ leader and the confidential council, and they are in a position to gain the confidence of the other women workers because all of them are comrades of one another. They have to prevent strife, jealousy, and irresponsible talk from poisoning the social atmosphere of the works, to help those of their fellow-workers who may be oppressed by domestic worries, and to assist in rendering the conditions of work as dignified as possible. To that end, they have to furnish the works’ leader with suggestions for any measures that may be required to adapt the processes of work – in conformity with the technical peculiarities of the undertaking – to the natural capacities of women. Finally, they have to assist in the transfer of women workers to other places of employment, in the task of making the aspect of the working premises as pleasing as possible, etc.

This enumeration of their functions shows that they must not only be experienced social workers, but must also be familiar with the actual work. For this latter reason, they are required to devote several months to such work before they are appointed to the post of social workers. During that time they receive the same wages as the other women workers and are subject to the same regulations as they. Similar arrangements, although on a more modest scale, are made in connection with smaller works, i.e., those where the number of women workers is less than 200.

Special care is devoted by our organisation to married women workers with children and to those expecting to be confined. In this domain of social work we provide assistance, in conjunction with the National Socialist Welfare Organisation (N.S. Volkswohlfahrt), exceeding the standards set by the existing legislation. Such supplementary assistance consists in money, food, linen, etc.

I must not omit to add a few words in reference to the women students who spend part of their holidays for the benefit of those women workers — notably those who have large families — who are in need of a week’s relaxation in addition to their regular holidays. The students generously attend to the factory work of these women during their absence; and as they demand no wages, the workers suffer no pecuniary loss whatever. In many instances, free quarters are provided for the students by the National Socialist Women’s Organisation (N.S. Frauenschaft), whilst the Welfare Organisation grants special facilities to the women on holiday, such as additional food parcels, board and lodging in one of their mothers’ hostels and so on. During the first few years of the operation of the scheme, the students relieved the workers to the extent of 57,700 days’ work. Large numbers of letters are received by us every day, in which workers and students alike tell us how grateful they are for their unforgettable experience. Works’ leaders, too, continually inform us of the beneficial results achieved.

After completing the inauguration of the above schemes, we continued our work in a different direction, i.e., by organising ourselves. We have now co-ordinated the previously existing women’s associations and thus created the German Women’s Association (Deutsches Frauenwerk), which is sub-divided into sections along the lines laid down by the N.S. Frauenschaft.

The Deutsches Frauenwerk consists, apart from the Mothers’ Service already mentioned, of the following sections: National and domestic economy; cultural and educational matters; assistance, and a foreign section. In addition, there are four large administrative departments, viz., general administration; finances; organisation and staff; the Press and propaganda matters, which latter also deals with the radio, films, and exhibitions.

In the section for national and domestic economy, women and girls are trained to apply the principles of national solidarity. They are taught that, in every household, the mother is responsible for the health of the whole family by providing good food and by generally exercising her duties with skill and efficiency.

The cultural and educational section makes the nation’s cultural assets available to women; women artists are assisted in their work, and particular attention is paid to the achievements of women in the realm of science.

The assistance section deals with the work done by female nurses, the Red Cross, and the air defence society.

The foreign section establishes contact with women’s associations abroad, supplies information to foreigners, exchanges experiences with foreign organisations, makes arrangements for seeing the institutions in connection with the work of the Deutsches Frauenwerk, etc.

All these groups are under the general direction of the N.S. Frauenschaft, which may therefore be regarded as the leading organisation, whilst the Deutsches Frauenwerk and the Frauenamt der Deutschen Arbeitsfront constitute the joint foundation for the work done by women throughout the country.

Foreigners have repeatedly asked me about the kind of compulsion exercised to make women take part in all this work. I wish to assure inquirers that we know of no compulsion whatever. Those who want to join us, must do so absolutely voluntarily; and I can only say that all of them are joyfully devoted to their work.

Let me conclude by quoting a remark which I made on the occasion of the Women’s Congress held at the time of the Nuremberg party rally (1935):

“All the work done by us as a matter of course, which is now so comprehensive that we cannot any longer describe it in detail, is only a means to an end. It is the expression of the determination of German women to assist in solving the great problems of our age. A spirit of comradeship animates all of us; and our devotion to our nation guides all our efforts.”

—————————

Source: http://nseuropa.wordpress.com/2012/11/11/the-place-of-women-in-the-new-germany/

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Book Reviews

Chapter 1: The Shadow

Chapter 2: Berlin Blackout

Chapter 3: Getting on with the Job

Chapter 4: Junketing Through Germany

Chapter 5: This Detested War

Chapter 6: Vienna and Bratislava

Chapter 7: Iron Rations

Chapter 8: A Berlin Lady Goes to Market

Chapter 9: The Battle of the Land

Chapter 10: The Labor Front

Chapter 11: The Army of the Spade

Chapter 12: Hitler Youth

Chapter 13: Women of the Third Reich

Chapter 14: Behind the WinterHelp

Chapter 15: Socialized Health

Chapter 16: In a Eugenics Court

Chapter 17: I See Hitler

Chapter 18: MidWinter Berlin

Chapter 19: Berlin to Budapest

Chapter 20: The Party

Chapter 21: The Totalitarian State

Chapter 22: Closed Doors

Chapter 23: Out of the Shadow

===========================

PDF of this post. Click to view or download (0.8MB). >>Into the Darkness – Chap 13 – Ver 2

Knowledge is Power in Our Struggle for Racial Survival

(Information that should be shared with as many of our people as possible — do your part to counter Jewish control of the mainstream media — pass it on and spread the word) … Val Koinen

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PDF of this post (click to download or view): Into the Darkness – Chap 13 – Ver 2

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Version 6: Nov 28, 2014. Added PDF file (Ver 2) of this post.

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Into the Darkness : Chapter 12: Hitler Youth

admin — Wed, 22 Jan 2014 20:55:17 +0000

Into the Darkness:

An Uncensored Report from

Inside the Third Reich at War

by Lothrop Stoddard

Chapter 12: Hitler Youth

During the autumn and winter months spent in Berlin I would occasionally see groups of boys on the streets clad in simple blue uniforms. Once or twice they had their arms filled with old newspapers a patriotic chore to which they had been assigned. More often I would see them helping extract contributions for the WinterHelp, a charity collection scheme that I will later describe.

Those are perhaps the only glimpses the casual foreign visitor gets of the extraordinary system whereby National Socialism is molding the rising generation according to its imperious will. Like many other things in the Third Reich, what you see on the surface is only a small part of what lies behind. Outwardly, Nazi Germany even in wartime does not look startlingly different from the Germany of former days. The same ordered neatness and cleanliness prevail, and you may live there a long time without having a single dramatic incident occur before your eyes. All this is apt to fool you, until you dig below that impeccable surface. Then you begin to learn and to understand the radical transformation of life and thought that is taking place.

These blueclad boys, between 10 and 14 years old, represent the first link in a chain of evolution which begins with the unformed child and ends with the uniformed man, indelibly stamped with the Nazi brand.

[Image] Members of the Hitler Youth (Hitler Jugend) in 1933.

Their official title is Jungvolk best translated as Hitler Youngsters. Like everything else in the Third Reich, they are organized from basic groups of ten right up to National Headquarters. However, their duties and training are elementary, as befits their tender years. The system does not get into full swing until these boys enter the Hitler Youth, where they remain until their nineteenth year. Thence they go into the National Labor Service, which we have already described. After that comes military service, which lasts at least two years more. Such is the arduous apprenticeship which the male German must undergo.

The German girl passes through a formative period similar in character and of about the same length. From 10 to 14 she is a Young Maiden; after that she is a Hitler Maid until she is 21. During the latter years of her Maidhood she is apt to be enrolled in the young women’s branch of the Labor Service, but of course she has no military service to undergo.

The combined male and female membership of the Hitler Youth in all its stages aggregates a total of well over 7,000,000, highly organized in every respect. That, I imagine, is the largest single youth organization in the world.

[Image] German poster for the Bund Deutscher Mädel. (The League of German Girls or League of German Maidens, was the girl’s wing of the overall Nazi party youth movement, the Hitler Youth. It was the only female youth organization in Nazi Germany. Initially the League consisted of two sections: the Jungmädel, for girls ages 10 to 14, and the League proper for girls ages 14 to 18.)

Adolf Hitler always stressed the necessity for any proselyting movement to gain and retain a firm hold on the rising generation. At the very start of his movement he organized a small youth group, though this was shattered like every other phase of his first effort after the disastrous BeerHall Putsch of 1923. However, with the refounding of the Party two years later, a youth section was promptly started and made rapid headway under a series of able leaders, of whom Baidur von Schirach is the most famous. Before an interview could be arranged for me, the leader of the Hitler Youth had made his dramatic gesture of volunteering for army service and promptly departed for the Western Front.

[Image] Baldur Benedikt von Schirach at a Nuremburg rally with the Hitler Youth.

To gain youth’s allegiance, the Nazi regime has evolved a system which enlists the interest and loyalty of the rising generation. Its core is the local Home a. well appointed boys’ clubhouse where the youngster meets his fellows in an atmosphere of comradeship supervised by carefully chosen leaders. Every Wednesday, the boys and girls gather in their respective Homes for their regular HomeEvening. The leader conducts the meeting according to a program prepared in advance at National Headquarters. Throughout Germany, the same songs are sung and the same subjects discussed. Then the radio is switched on, and all listen to a program entitled “Young Germany’s Hour,” which begins at 8.15 P.M. and is broadcast by all stations. On some other week day evening the youngsters gather a second time for a program devoted to games and sports. It is interesting to note that there is no military drill or use of arms in these physical exercises. Unlike the Balilla and Sons of the Wolf, the corresponding youth units of Fascist Italy, there are no miniature rifles or other warlike paraphernalia. The Nazis believe that imposing military training at this early age would be a psychological mistake.

To develop loyalty and maintain interest in their organization, a whole round of activities and special events has been devised. On New Year’s Day the Supreme Youth Leader makes an address to all his followers over the radio. In late January Young Germany honors the memory of its symbolic martyr, a fifteenyearold Hitler Youth named Herbert Norkus, murdered by Communists during the years of strife before the Nazis came to power.

[Image] Herbert Norkus [1]

From February to April a series of competitions takes place to determine who among them possess those qualities of leadership which qualify them to be appointed to minor offices in the organization. The Fuehrer’s birthday, April 20th, is a great celebration, on which Hitler Youngsters who have attained their fourteenth year pass into the ranks of Hitler Youth. On May 1st, winners of special competitions throughout Germany are received by the Fuehrer himself. From June to August millions of Hitler boys and girls go vacationing in their Youth Camps or on hiking tours, and nationwide sport competitions take place. The highlight of this period is the annual Party Day at Nuremberg, when chosen detachments of Hitler Youth of both sexes travel thither from the remotest parts of the Reich to parade proudly before the Fuehrer and receive the applause of assembled Nazidom. This is also the day when those youths who have completed their eighteenth year formally graduate into the adult ranks of the Party. The autumn months are enlivened by various activities, especially participation in the Winter Help charity drives. It is easy to see how this continuous round of stimulating, pleasurable activities tends to center interest and loyalty around the organizational Home and all that it signifies.

[Image] Hitler Youth members

How has all this modified the individual boy’s and girl’s relations to those other aspects of life family, church, and school? Complex adjustments are inevitable, for we must remember that, however pleasurable they may be, Hitler Youth activities are duties which must be complied with and with which no one may interfere. In the first years of the Nazi regime I am told that this sudden shift of youthful loyalties provoked frequent domestic conflicts and caused many personal tragedies. Great numbers of nonNazi parents were recalcitrant at seeing their children placed in an atmosphere which sapped their authority and tended to make boys and girls flout the teachings of their elders. The traditional German family is patriarchal, and many fathers objected to the claims of the Youth Home on personal grounds even when they had no strong objections to the Nazi regime as such. In many cases, this conflict of loyalties went so far that boys and girls denounced their own parents to the authorities for what the children had been taught to consider unpatriotic speech or conduct.

[Image] The League of German Maidens. Bund Deutscher Madel or BDM was the girls’s wing of the Nazi Party youth movement.

Today, I understand that such extreme conflicts are rare. The Nazi regime broke parental resistance as systematically as it did opposition of every kind; so the most rebellious fathers and mothers have been weeded out by concentration camps or lesser penalties. The average parent now accepts the situation as inevitable, even if he or she does not at heart wholly approve. Indeed, I was told by foreign observers that a large proportion of German parents, including of course all Party members, now assent willingly to an institution which teaches their children good personal habits, promotes their health, and brightens their young lives in many ways.

[Image] Adolf Hitler salutes his Hitler Youth. Senior Nazis wanted the movement to forge close ties with the Boy Scouts [2]

Far more serious has been the conflict with the churches. Both the Protestant and Roman Catholic confessions possessed strong youth organizations. The Nazi Government, in accordance with its policy of all round coordination, insisted that these confessional groups be merged in the Hitler Youth. This raised a storm of protest from pious church folk, who deemed the Youth Homes, with their absence of denominational teaching, little short of godless, while priests and pastors encouraged and backed the protests of their parishioners. Here, again, very many distressing incidents took place. Protestant opposition has apparently lessened with the years, though a recalcitrant minority still exists. The Roman Church, however, has maintained its traditional objection to membership of its young people in non Catholic organizations. This is one of the main reasons for the deep going conflict between the Roman Church and the Nazi State which has existed from the start and which is by no means settled.

The uncompromising Nazi attitude is set forth in the following official statement:

“The socialist conception of the Third Reich demands of each individual the unconditional subordination of his individual being to the socialist expression of his people. This socialist existence has one form of expression as far as the youth of Germany is concerned: namely, the Hitler Youth. Every youth association outside the Hitler Youth transgresses against the spirit of the community which is the spirit of the State.”

That policy has been carried out by a combination of legal action and official pressure which most Roman Catholic parents have been unable to resist. The result has been the liquidation not only of the Catholic youth organizations but of most of the parochial schools as well. But I was told that a vast deal of suppressed heart burning persists.

The Nazification of the public schools presented no such difficulties because they formed part of the State itself. The Nazis have made few formal changes in the educational system they inherited from the previous regime, but its spirit and emphasis have been profoundly altered.

Bernhard Rust, Reich Minister of Education, thus characterizes the former system:

“Although the intellectual capacities of young persons had been excellently trained and although they were thoroughly qualified for their vocations in afterlife, the importance of knowledge for knowledge’s sake had been over estimated, whilst physical education and the training of the will had been neglected…. Furthermore, excessive importance had been attached to the individual as such. It was almost forgotten that each individual is at the same time a member of a racial community, and that it is only in that capacity that he can perfect his powers to their fullest extent, while it is his duty to work for the community good.”

Dr. Rust then continues his argument for the Nazi idea of education by asserting:

“All forms of instruction have one aim the shaping of the National Socialist human. But each form has its special tasks. The school is, in the main, determined by the fact that it educates by means of lessons…. In the past there has been a tendency towards cramming into pupils’ heads every new addition to learning, but restrictions are now imposed upon that tendency. It is not necessary to teach everything that is interesting or otherwise worth knowing.”

Dr. Rust’s somewhat restrictive view of formal education is in exact accordance with Adolf Hitler’s dictum, when he wrote in Mein Kampf that one should;

“not cumber the brain with a lot of useless knowledge, ninety five per cent of which it has no use for and hence proceeds to jettison.”

[Image] Dr. Bernhard Rust (30 September 1883 in Hanover – 8 May 1945) was Minister of Science, Education and National Culture (Reichserziehungsminister) in NS Germany. . During World War I he reached the rank of lieutenant and was awarded the Iron Cross for bravery.

In the same volume, Hitler also proposed “to cut down instruction so that it deals solely with essentials.” Among those essentials, the Third Reich emphasizes Nazi ideas and bodily development through sport. We have already seen several ways in which these aims are furthered, but even in the restricted sphere of the school they occupy a prominent part in the curriculum. The amount of time there devoted to the acquirement of what we may call book learning is relatively less than that of former days.

Emphasis on bodily development has undoubtedly produced some good results. No foreign visitor to the Third Reich can fail to note the high average level of health and strength in the rising generation. At the same time, some foreign investigators have criticized the new system as being out of balance.

One of the most interesting of these criticisms is contained in the report of a British educational mission which visited Germany in 1937. Its report raises the query whether athleticism is not being fostered at the expense of mental development. Noting signs of nervous strain among German school children and members of the Hitler Youth, taught to regard the body as a machine which must be kept at the highest pitch of efficiency whilst the mind must at the same time be attuned to maximum receptivity to Nazi ideas, these British educators were led to wonder whether the ultimate outcome might not be “Mens insana in corpore sano!” This joint emphasis upon athletics and Nazi ideology reaches its height in certain special institutions which the Third Reich has added to the regular educational system. These are the Adolf Hitler Schools and the National Socialist Order Castles.

The Hitler Schools are designed to train what Nazis term “a new aristocracy” from whose ranks shall be drawn the future leaders of the Third Reich. In their choosing, the wealth or social position of parents is supposed to play no part. The candidates are selected from twelve year old boys, physically perfect and of sound Germanic stock, who have shown special aptitude in school and in the Hitler Youth. It goes without saying that the one indispensable aptitude is a record of unflagging zeal for Nazi ideas.

Those selected youngsters are a favored group. According to the plan, they are to pass six years in fine educational institutions where they receive every advantage, entirely at Government expense. Thereafter they are scheduled to pass into the regular Labor Service and do their military duty. After those tasks come three years of civilian life, earning their living or starting a profession in the ordinary way.

Then, at the age of twenty five, they are to reassemble. By a second process of selection, the most eligible thousand (from the Party viewpoint) are picked for the Nazi Order of Knighthood the postgraduate School of Leadership. In stately castles reminiscent of the medieval fortresses of the Teutonic Knights, they will pass four years of intensive training, wherein physical and ideological attainments are brought to the highest pitch of perfection. This elite thousand will then graduate, to take up their lifework of guiding and governing the Third Reich.

The reader will note that I have spoken of this grandiose conception in the future tense. That is because it was started only two years before the war, which has at least temporarily shelved the daring experiment. As far as I could learn, the Hitler Schools are closed. I visited one in Northern Oldenburg. It was architecturally impressive but it was occupied by soldiers. The castles are likewise empty, the knights having all gone into military service.

Like about everything else in the Third Reich, its youth system is dependent upon the outcome of the life and death struggle wherein it is engaged.

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Footnotes:

[1] On 24 January 1932, 15-year-old Herbert Norkus and other Hitler Youth members were distributing leaflets advertising an upcoming Nazi rally. The group was confronted by Communists. Norkus fought them off and ran to a nearby house for help. A man answered and slammed the door in his face, presumably because he saw the other boys. Norkus was then stabbed six times by the pursuing Communists. He banged on another door, which was answered by a woman who tried to get him to a hospital. However, he died on arrival.

Writer Karl Aloys Schenzinger made Norkus into a role model for the Hitler Youth in a popular Nazi novel, Der Hitlerjunge Quex (1932). In 1933, it was made into a film directed by Hans Steinhoff, with Heinrich George in a leading role as the boy’s father. The novel was required reading for all members of the Hitler Youth.

A German Navy school ship called the Herbert Norkus was named in his honor, but it was never completed because of the war. Many schools, streets and squares were also named after him during the Nazi period.

[2] http://www.theaustralian.com.au/news/latest-news/lord-baden-powell-offered-hitler-youth-hand-of-friendship/story-fn3dxity-1225838462256

MARCH 09, 2010

THE founder of the Boy Scouts founder held friendly talks with senior Nazis about forming closer ties with the Hitler Youth and was even invited to meet Adolf Hitler, newly released security files show.

Lord Baden-Powell, who started the Scouts in 1907, held talks with German ambassador Joachim von Ribbentrop and Hitler Youth chief of staff Hartmann Lauterbacher on November 19, 1937.

Lauterbacher, then 28, was in Britain to foster closer relations with the Boy Scout movement and Ribbentrop invited Baden-Powell to tea with the Hitler Youth leader, declassified MI5 Security Service files revealed.

A letter from Lord Baden-Powell to Ribbentrop the day after the meeting showed how he felt about the talks.

“I am grateful for the kind conversation you accorded me which opened my eyes to the feeling of your country towards Britain, which I may say reciprocates exactly the feeling which I have for Germany,” Lord Baden-Powell wrote.

“I sincerely hope that we shall be able, in the near future, to give expression to it through the youth on both sides, and I will at once consult my headquarters officers and see what suggestions they can put forward.”

In a report on the meeting, Baden-Powell described Ribbentrop as “earnest” and “charming”.

He wrote:

“I had a long talk with the ambassador, who was very insistent that the true peace between the two nations will depend on the youth being brought up on friendly terms together in forgetfulness of past differences.”

“He sees in the Scout movement a very powerful agency for helping to bring this about if we can get into closer touch with the Jugend (Youth) movement in Germany.”

“To help this he suggested that if possible we should send one or two men to meet their leaders in Germany and talk matters over and, especially, he would like me to go and see Hitler after I am back from Africa.”

He went on:

“I told him that I was fully in favour of anything that would bring about a better understanding between our nations, and hoped to have further talks with him when I return from Africa.”

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Book Reviews

Chapter 1: The Shadow

Chapter 2: Berlin Blackout

Chapter 3: Getting on with the Job

Chapter 4: Junketing Through Germany

Chapter 5: This Detested War

Chapter 6: Vienna and Bratislava

Chapter 7: Iron Rations

Chapter 8: A Berlin Lady Goes to Market

Chapter 9: The Battle of the Land

Chapter 10: The Labor Front

Chapter 11: The Army of the Spade

Chapter 12: Hitler Youth

Chapter 13: Women of the Third Reich

Chapter 14: Behind the WinterHelp

Chapter 15: Socialized Health

Chapter 16: In a Eugenics Court

Chapter 17: I See Hitler

Chapter 18: MidWinter Berlin

Chapter 19: Berlin to Budapest

Chapter 20: The Party

Chapter 21: The Totalitarian State

Chapter 22: Closed Doors

Chapter 23: Out of the Shadow

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PDF of this post (click to download or view): Into the Darkness – Chap 12 – Ver 2

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Version 6: Jun 17, 2015. Formatting changes.

Version 5: Nov 28, 2014. Added PDF file (Ver 2) of this post.

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Version 3: Jun 21, 2014. Added PDF file of this chapter for download. Added images to text.

Version 2: Wed, Feb 5, 2014. Added Chapter links.

Version 1: Published Jan 22 2014 – Text added.

Into the Darkness : Chapter 11: The Army of the Spade

admin — Wed, 22 Jan 2014 20:50:14 +0000

Into the Darkness:

An Uncensored Report from

Inside the Third Reich at War

by Lothrop Stoddard

Chapter 11: The Army of the Spade

One cold winter morning I approached an extensive building on the outskirts of Berlin. Near the entrance I observed a large banner stretched upon the wall. It was red with a central circle of white, within which was a symbolic black spade from whose short handle sprouted twin wheatears. Below the banner was inscribed this saying by Frederick the Great:

“Whoever makes two stalks of grain to grow where formerly there was only one, can claim to have done more for his nation than a military genius who has won a great battle.”

That was my introduction to a study of the National Labor Service what Germans call Arbeitsdienst. It is an outstanding feature of the Third Reich, variously interpreted by foreign observers. You hear good words for it, especially as it is applied to young men. But its extension to Germany’s young womanhood is by no means so favorably regarded.

The Nazis did not invent the idea. It grew up spontaneously during the Weimar Republic, when various organizations established camps for unemployed youths to take them off the streets and put them to useful work, especially in the country on landreclamation and forest projects. When the full tide of economic depression hit Germany, the Weimar regime tried to coordinate these groups into an officially controlled organization. Membership, however, was voluntary. The aim was a temporary one, to cope with an economic emergency. In both spirit and method, this first Labor Service closely resembled the C.C.C. organization set up under our “New Deal.” However, it was not so unified or efficiently run as ours.

When the Nazis came to power in 1933, they took over this rather dubious experiment and soon transformed it along characteristic lines. In fact, they were already operating a small labor service corps of their own, commanded by Colonel Konstantin Hierl, who was destined to develop the movement to its present scope. This soldierly looking man, with close clipped mustache and precise mouth, seems to be one of those efficient organizers whom National Socialism has produced.

Colonel Konstantin Hierl

In describing the National Labor Service, two things should be kept in mind. First, what we have already stressed with other Nazi innovations the wide distinction between theory and practice. The picture which Nazi spokesmen paint for you may be very far indeed from what is actually in operation. Sometimes they admit this; but they then point out that their regime is only seven years old and has functioned during a period of growing stress and strain culminating in a great foreign war. Under such exceptional circumstances they claim that the fairminded foreign investigator should keep this in mind, and should neither condemn the idea itself nor deny its feasibility in more favorable times, A second point to be remembered is the unfavorable trend in the working of Nazi institutions which set in with their ruthless concentration on the Four Year Plan for national self sufficiency under the imminent threat of war, and which has been further accentuated since the outbreak of war itself. This is notably true of the National Labor Service. In the early years of the Nazi regime, it resembled the ideal far more closely than it has done in recent years or than it does today.

With these qualifications, let’s take a look at the theoretical set up, as it is described to you at Labor Service Headquarters and set forth in its abundant propagandist literature.
The plan for this National Labor Service combines severely practical aims with high ideals. Become compulsory and universal, it took the entire annual “class” of twenty year old youths and set them to productive tasks designed to conserve and expand Germany’s natural resources, especially her food supply.

The idealistic side of the story is thus expressed by Colonel Hierl: “The Labor Service restores the soulcontact between work and the worker, destroyed by a materialistic philosophy.” The ideal is emphasized in the Service motto: Arbeit Edelt “Work Ennobles.” Members of the Service are termed “Soldiers of Labor.” Collectively, it is known as The Army of the Spade. This army numbers approximately 400,000, normally housed in about 2,000 camps scattered throughout Germany.

The Labor Service is designed to accomplish “national tasks” useful to the German people as a whole.

By this is meant such matters as drainage projects, reclamation of waste or marginal lands, reforestation, and similar works which otherwise would be done neither by private nor public enterprise because normal wages and working conditions would make it too expensive. The Labor Army is not intended to compete with ordinary labor.

RAD squad, 1940

(Reichsarbeitsdienst (translated to Reich Labour Service, abbreviated RAD)

These young labor soldiers are not supposed to be “sweated” in their tasks, since that would tend to make them hate the very labor which they are taught to honor. The idea is not to overstrain them. Neither are speed and material efficiency deemed primary considerations. When I was shown the tools used by the Labor Service, it was carefully explained to me that all of them must be such as are merely helpful adjuncts to manual labor. Spades, axes, mattocks, and many other implements were there, some specially invented as the result of practical experience. But they were all tools, subordinate to the laborer himself. The Labor Service does not officially favor the use of mechanism like tractors, where man is a mere guider of the machine. The psychology aspect of work done by the Labor Service is thereby emphasized.

There is certainly enough to be done. Labor Service surveys estimate that there is work of this sort for 500,000 men for twenty years. At Berlin headquarters all this is graphically set forth on an immense wallmap, where at a glance you can see both what is planned and what has already been done. The war has interrupted many if not most pending projects, but much has been completed, particularly important drainage works along the Baltic and North Sea coasts, together with moorland reclamations in various regions.

According to official statements, Labor Service detachments rarely exceed two hundred men. In peacetime, they are usually housed in wooden barracks much like our C.C.C. camps. The dormitories are furnished with mattress beds, and each man has his individual locker, chair, and small table. The campunit centers in a larger barrack containing a big combined dining and social room, together with kitchen, larder, and officers’ quarters.

The normal, peacetime working day is spent as follows: Reveille in summer at 5.00 A.M.; in winter at 6.00 A.M. Ten minutes of settingup exercises follow. Then an hour for washing, dressing, bedmaking, cleanup, and early breakfast. Then flag parade and orders for the day.

The day’s work takes up seven hours, including time taken for marching to and from work, and thirty minutes for breakfast. Dinner in summer is served at 1.30 P.M.; in winter at 2.30. An hour’s rest is normally taken after dinner. The afternoons are devoted to bodily and mental training. Sports, games, and marching exercises take place on alternate days and last one hour. After that, daily instruction is given in home politics, German history, current affairs, and subjects of special interest to the Labor Service. Needless to say, all lessons are intensely propagandist and serve to implant the Nazi point of view.

Supper is served at 7.00 P.M. After that, the evening hours of leisure begin, spent according to individual inclination except twice weekly, when all join in community singing, attendance at lectures, or seeing motion pictures further bits of propaganda. Camp tattoo and lightsout end the day at 10.00 P.M.

Such is the official program of the labor school through which more than 2,000,000 young men have passed in the last seven years. Of course it is designed primarily to make loyal Nazis, and it has undoubtedly played a large part in molding the thought and outlook of the younger generation. Nevertheless, from what I could gather, the Labor Service has been popular with both the men themselves and the general population. I was told by Germans and foreigners alike that, in parades or Party demonstrations, the Labor Battalions, in their warm earthbrown uniforms and with their gleaming spades, were always greeted by loud applause.

What I have been describing is the peacetime scene. Today, one rarely sees those brownuniformed youths, either at work or on parade. An omnivorous warmachine has caught up these disciplined labor forces and has drafted them for military tasks. Most of them are now concentrated either behind the WestWall or in Poland. I was told that, in the Polish campaign, the Labor Battalions were invaluable. Going in right behind the troops, they did yeoman service in cleanup operations. Naturally, under stress of war, the normal peacetime schedule of work and life I depicted has given place to a sterner and more strenuous regimen. To all intents and purposes, those boys are “in the army now.” I heard few criticisms of the Labor Service for young men even in quarters strongly anti-Nazi in most respects. However, I encountered much criticism of the young women’s branch of the service, in some instances rising to severe condemnation. In Nazi eyes, since a national labor service should be truly universal, Germany’s young womanhood is logically included in the general scheme. In practice, however, labor service for women was not generalized until the outbreak of the present war. At first, service was voluntary, and the number enrolled annually did not average much over 15,000.

The basic idea behind the Women’s Labor Service is the same as that for their brothers. Girls of all social classes live and work together, learning the value and dignity of labor and of course becoming ardent Nazis in the process. Their surroundings and the types of work they do, however, differ markedly from those of their brothers in the Army of the Spade.

Though these girls wear a brown uniform, it is of feminine cut, quite like that of our Girl Scouts. Beyond flag drill, there are few military features, the goal being to turn out housewives and mothers; not potential female soldiers. The camps are relatively small, averaging thirtyfive girls. They also tend to be less barracklike in aspect, and camp life is concerned largely with domestic training in all its branches.

Outside of their camp curriculum, Labor Service girls have various duties. Some of these are in the line of social service. Many girls are assigned to help overworked mothers by tending their children. To this end, some camps are established near industrial areas to aid the wives of factory workers. Such camps sometimes run kindergartens. Country children are similarly looked after by Service girls, especially in harvest time when the peasant mothers must be away in the fields.

However, Labor Service girls have been increasingly assigned directly and almost exclusively to regular farm work. Every morning they leave camp for farmsteads in the neighborhood, doing whatever the peasant or his wife may direct and returning to camp only toward nightfall. All that time they are entirely without supervision by their camp guardians and are in a rough, hard environment, associating with peasants who are apt to be coarse and uncouth, and who frequently may be drunken and immoral. I was told of distressing instances where girls had been overworked, illtreated, insulted, and even seduced, so that they returned to their homes with child. Those are the dark aspects which seem to be inevitable in a system like this.

Yet it is precisely this phase of the Women’s Labor Service which the war has greatly accentuated. Since the outbreak of war, national service for young women is being so rapidly extended that it may soon become wellnigh universal in fact as well as in name. Shortly after hostilities broke out, 60,000 girls were mustered for the Labor Corps, in addition to 40,000 already in service. New barracks were hastily built to accommodate these recruits, and I understand that girl conscription has proceeded as fast as they could be effectively mobilized. Most of them were frankly destined for farm work as replacements for peasants called to the colors.

All this is merely part of the general process which has turned the Third Reich into a vast Modern Sparta, wherein every able bodied man or woman, youth or maiden, is part of a gigantic warmachine. We have already noted the decree giving the Government authority to send anyone anywhere on any sort of duty.

The implications of this decree are limitless. I recall a chat I had with a man in Bremen on this very point. I asked whether the virtual paralysis of that great portcity by the British blockade would not result in widespread unemployment and a difficult local situation. The man looked at me in genuine surprise.

“Of course not,” he answered. “If, say, half the people here have no local work to do, they’ll just be shifted elsewhere to other jobs. You understand,” he concluded, “we Germans are all soldiers today, no matter whether we are in or out of uniform.”

That is the spirit you encounter everywhere in this New Sparta.

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Book Reviews

Chapter 1: The Shadow

Chapter 2: Berlin Blackout

Chapter 3: Getting on with the Job

Chapter 4: Junketing Through Germany

Chapter 5: This Detested War

Chapter 6: Vienna and Bratislava

Chapter 7: Iron Rations

Chapter 8: A Berlin Lady Goes to Market

Chapter 9: The Battle of the Land

Chapter 10: The Labor Front

Chapter 11: The Army of the Spade

Chapter 12: Hitler Youth

Chapter 13: Women of the Third Reich

Chapter 14: Behind the WinterHelp

Chapter 15: Socialized Health

Chapter 16: In a Eugenics Court

Chapter 17: I See Hitler

Chapter 18: MidWinter Berlin

Chapter 19: Berlin to Budapest

Chapter 20: The Party

Chapter 21: The Totalitarian State

Chapter 22: Closed Doors

Chapter 23: Out of the Shadow

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PDF of this post (click to download or view): Into the Darkness – Chap 11

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Version 4: Nov 27, 2014 – Added PDF of post.

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Into the Darkness : Chapter 9: The Battle of the Land

admin — Wed, 21 Aug 2013 05:48:06 +0000

Into the Darkness:

An Uncensored Report from

Inside the Third Reich at War

by Lothrop Stoddard

Chapter 9: The Battle of the Land

“The peasant is the lifespring of our Reich and our race.” Thus did Walther Darre, Minister of Agriculture and Food Supply, concisely state the Nazi attitude toward the land and those who work it. Blut und Boden! “Blood and Soil!” That is one of National Socialism’s key slogans.

Nowhere has this revolutionary regime undertaken more daring and original experiments than upon the land itself. Of that I was aware when I came to Germany, so I was anxious to study this challenging phase of German life by firsthand observation.

Walter Richard Darre, Minister of Agriculture and Food Supply

(In office from 29th June 1933 to 23rd May 1942)

The Minister was more than willing to assist. This big, energetic, goodlooking man is one of the most interesting personalities among the Nazi leaders. As his name indicates, he descends from Huguenot ancestors who came to Germany three centuries ago. Furthermore, as I have stated, he was born in the Argentine. The son of a wealthy German resident, he spent his early life in South America. He is well qualified for his job, since he is an expert on agriculture and stockbreeding.

I have already quoted Dr. Darre on the foodcard system now in operation. However, in our conversations, he repeatedly emphasized that this was merely part of a much larger organic whole which far transcended the war. Here is how he summarized National Socialism’s agricultural aim and policy:

“When we came to power in 1933, one of our chief endeavors was to save German agriculture from impending ruin. However, our agricultural program went far beyond mere economic considerations. It was based on the idea that no nation can truly prosper without a sound rural population. It is not enough that the farmers shall be tolerably welloff; they should also be aware of their place in the national life and be able to fulfill it.

Here are the three big factors in the problem: First, to assure an ample food supply; second, to safeguard the future by a healthy population increase; third, to develop a distinctive national culture deeply rooted in the soil. This ideal logically implies an aim which goes far beyond what is usually known as an agrarian policy.”

These factors were dealt with by three important pieces of legislation passed shortly after the Nazis came to power. They were: (1) The National Food Estate; (2) The Hereditary Farmlands Law; (3) The Market Control Statute.

The Food Estate is a gigantic quasipublic corporation embracing in its membership not only all persons immediately on the land but also everyone connected with the production and distribution of foodstuffs. Large landowners, small peasants, agricultural laborers, millers, bakers, canners, middlemen, right down to local butchers and grocers they are one and all included in this huge vertical trust. The aim is to bring all these group interests, previously working largely at crosspurposes, into a harmonious, coordinated whole, concerned especially with problems of production and distribution. The Market Control Statute links all this with the consumer. The aim here is a thoroughgoing, balanced economic structure based on the principle known as the “just price.” Everybody is supposed to make a profit, but none are to be out of line with the others. Furthermore, the ultimate consumer is to be protected from profiteering.

The Hereditary Farmlands Law revives the old Teutonic concept that the landowner is intimately linked to the land. It is officially stated that:

“The idea engendered by Roman law that land was so much merchandise to be bought and sold at will is profoundly repugnant to German feelings. To us, soil is something sacred; the peasant and his land belong inseparably together.”

Emphasis is thus laid on the Bauer, imperfectly translated by our word peasant. The German Bauer is an independent landowner, self respecting and proud of the name. We can best visualize him as like the old English yeoman.

This is the class which National Socialism seeks to foster by making peasant holdings hereditary; keeping the farm in the family, and keeping it intact by having it descend through the oldest son. That was the old Teutonic method, which still prevails by custom in parts of Germany. Over 700,000 of these hereditary farm holdings have now been established. They cannot be sold or mortgaged; neither can a creditor seize the crop for the owner’s personal debt. To qualify as a hereditary peasant, however, a man must be of German blood and be able to manage his property. Title to the land is thus not absolute; it is rather functional in character.

This type of peasant is most numerous in Northwestern Germany. In the eastern provinces, great estates predominate. In Southern Germany, on the contrary, where farms have customarily been divided among all the children, holdings tend to be too small. The Nazis consider either extreme economically and socially unsound. They therefore seek to split up the big estates into moderatesized peasant farmsteads, and combine small parcels into normal units. They are not trying to rush things, but considerable progress has been made along both lines.

As usual, the Nazis have tried to enlist psychology in their agricultural endeavors. The Bauer’s traditional pride is flattered in many ways. He is extolled as the Third Reich’s “nobility of the soil“; the vital wellspring of national life. Everything is done to encourage his corporate spirit, from reviving costumes and folk dances to an annual Peasant Congress and a gigantic festival on the historic Bueckeberg. The Nazis frankly admit that mere planning and regulation from above, no matter how efficient, will not attain the desired goal a flourishing agriculture which will feed the whole nation. Not unless the rural population is inspired to do its utmost will the experiment succeed. It is this psychological aspect which Nazi spokesmen have in mind when they speak of the Inner Front. As Darre told me:

“We saw from the first that we could not reach our goal through state action alone. We needed the help of the organized farmers to put it over.”

Such was the theory. How was it working out in practice? “See for yourself,” said Dr. Darre. He thereupon proposed that I make an investigation trip through what he considered the most instructive region rural Westphalia and Oldenburg. There I would see in successful operation an agricultural system and way of life basically unchanged since the Middle Ages. It was upon this system, adapted to modern conditions, that the National Socialist Government had framed its land laws, which it intends ultimately to extend throughout the Reich. I would thus see a sort of working model for a hopedfor future.

A few days after this conversation I left Berlin for the projected tour, accompanied by one of the Minister’s righthand men. He was Dr. Friedrich Sohn, a leading agronomist who had also studied agricultural conditions in America and had done special work in the Brookings Institution at Washington. He could thus compare German and American agriculture in a most useful way. As usual, an elaborate schedule had been drawn up for a comprehensive survey, with many stops to visit farms, large and small, and ample time to chat with the owners, look over their livestock, and examine methods of cultivation. A shy man, Dr. Sohn handed me the typewritten schedule rather anxiously.

“This means that we’ll be going every day from dawn till after dark,” he said with a deprecating smile.

I assured him that was all right with me, as I wanted to make the most of this trip. This cheered him up no end. Germans really like hard work, and they seem always delighted when a foreigner is willing to hit the same pace.

We left Berlin by train just after lunch and journeyed westward via Hanover to Minden, where we were to spend the first night. We arrived after dark. The railway station is some distance from the town itself, so we had to rustle our bags through the misting rain to a waiting tram almost tiny enough to pose for a model of the famous Toonerville Trolley. On our way, we nearly ran over a drunk who had chosen the space between the rails for his couch. The motorman heaved the sleeper impatiently to the roadside and kept on, reporting the incident to a policeman on post as we entered town.

We stopped at a little hotel decorated in the plush splendor of the 1870’s. They dine early in the provinces, so when we got to the diningroom it was almost empty except for one large Stammtisch in a far corner. About that table sat a dozen big, blond men smoking fat cigars and drinking from generous steins of beer. Our meal confirmed what I had already heard about the less stringent food regulations in the small towns. It was a meatless day, but I rejoiced to see egg dishes on the menu. I hastened to order fried eggs, “sunny side up,” and got two big beauties. The fresh yolks beamed at me from the bluebordered plate. Those were the first eggs I had seen in Germany since the Press junket; but those had been rather “off the record” while these were evidently a matter of course. I was still more astonished to see a nice piece of fried ham nestling beside the eggs, while the next instant my waiter placed a pat of butter on the table, with no request for my foodcard. I looked inquiringly at Dr. Sohn. “Out here they don’t bother much about such matters,” he smiled.

After dinner, the head of the local Bauernschaft, or Peasants’ Organization, came to pay his respects and talk over the trip planned for the next day. Like most of these officials, he was an obvious countryman. The Bauernschaft is really run by “dirt farmers.” We breakfasted early and entered the motor car ordered for us just as the late autumn dawn was breaking. It was a small sedan, through the windows of which I caught charming glimpses of historic Minden with its crooked streets and gabled houses. The day was cold and cloudy. By the time we had reached our first scheduled stop, I was somewhat chilled. This was the town of Enger, where we were to do a bit of sightseeing but with a practical purpose.

Here is the burial place of Widukind, the legendary Saxon chieftain who for so long withstood the might of Charlemagne. The Nazis have glorified Widukind as a popular hero, defending primitive Germanism and the old gods against Karl the Great who is described as a Latinized Teuton seeking to impose upon the Saxons the yoke of a revived Roman Empire and an equally alien Roman faith. That, at least, is the thesis of the handsome little booklet given me when I visited the new Widukind Memorial, half museum and half shrine.

The booklet also states that, long after the Saxon nobles had lost heart and given up the fight, the tribal masses stood by their patriot hero to the death. Perchance the intent is to suggest a primeval Fuehrer? We were now well into rural Westphalia, and our investigations had begun. But before relating details, let me sketch in the background. The districts I was to visit all lie in what is undoubtedly the most Teutonic part of Germany. From Westphalia northward to the North Sea Coast and the Holstein peninsula to the Danish border stretches the region which can perhaps best be called Old SaxonLand. This region should not be confused with the modern province of Saxony, which is far to the southward and has no historical connection. What I refer to as Old SaxonLand is the primeval home of those Teutonic tribes some of whom migrated oversea and conquered Britain.

It is interesting to note that the old blood still shows in the present population. A large proportion of the peasantry have long heads and faces, ruddy blond complexions, and frames which, though tall and muscular, are seldom rotund or thickset. Such persons could very easily pass for English rural types. Some of them, indeed, with different clothes and haircuts, would look quite like oldstock Americans.

For the American visitor, the general aspect of this region has a familiar look. In other parts of Germany the rural population lives in villages. Old SaxonLand, however, is throughout a country of detached farms. Each family lives on its own holding, entirely separate from its neighbors. This, indeed, typifies the traditional spirit of the folk. The Old Saxons have been, and for the most part still are, independent landholders. There are relatively few large estates held by noblemen. The region is predominantly inhabited by a landowning peasantry.

Within itself, this peasantry varies considerably in economic and social standing. At the top stand large farms of two hundred acres or more, while the smallest holdings are only a few acres. Most of the large farms are worked, not by temporary hired labor, but by tenant farmers. The relations of these tenants to their proprietors are highly personal and are regulated by contracts and customs going back to ancient times. Some tenant holdings have been in the same family for generations.

The agricultural system and way of life in Old SaxonLand cannot be understood unless we realize that these people, no matter what the size of their holdings, all feel themselves to be fellowpeasants. Even the wealthy owner of many acres and proprietor to several tenants is very much of a dirt farmer. He probably has been away to school and possesses a good education. Nevertheless, he works with his hands, wears farm clothes and wooden shoes, and is just as close to the soil as anyone else. He has no wish to be a nobleman or even a “squire” in the English sense.

However, he has a deep though unobtrusive pride in himself and his place in the world. With good reason, too; for in many cases his forebears have been leaders in the local community since time immemorial. One big farm I visited, which had been in the same family for over five centuries, had been continuously cultivated with scant change in boundaries ever since the year 960 A.D. more than a hundred years before the Norman Conquest of England! The quiet dignity and mellow beauty of these old farmsteads must be seen to be appreciated.

They consist of a number of buildings ranged about a courtyard, whence their German name of Hof. They are always built of timbered red brick, though the timber patterns differ from one district to another. As you enter the courtyard, you have directly in front of you the main building an impressive structure with highpitched roof running down to within a few feet of the ground. This building is very long; sometimes well over a hundred feet. It houses both the masterfarmer and his animals. When you enter the great doorway you find cows and horses stalled on either side. Only the malodorous pigs are today usually relegated to other quarters, though formerly they lived there too.

At the rear of the farmstead are the family livingquarters. In olden days there was no partition between, so the masterfarmer could survey his livestock directly from his great bed and watch the work going on. Today, the livingquarters are walled off from the barn itself, though with handy access through one or more doors. Back of the livingquarters lies a moderatesized pleasure garden, filled with shrubs and flowerbeds, and usually walled in by high hedges. Here the family take their ease on summer evenings.

The smaller farmsteads are built on precisely the same lines as the great Hofs, though everything is on a lesser scale. In the old tenant farmsteads conditions are decidedly primitive. The living quarters are not merely under the same roof; they are right in with the animals. Yet even here I found no filth or squalor. The air might be pungent with the smell of cows and horses, but the rooms were always neat and clean.

Maier Johann awaited me as my motor car drove in through the outer gate of the farmstead and stopped in the middle of the wide courtyard. The yard was surrounded by buildings of timbered brick. Indeed, the yard itself was paved with brick, liberally coated with sticky black soil tracked in by wagons, men, and animals. My host stood in the great doorway of his Hof, his ancestral abode.

Maier Johann is a wealthy man, as wealth is reckoned in those parts. He owns over two hundred acres of rich land, most of it under crops though with some pasture and woodland. His ancestors have owned it for nearly eight hundred years. From the first glance it is clear that he is a good manager. Everything is well kept up.

The front of the Hof is a sight in itself. From the highpitched roof to the ground, this front is elaborately carved, and those old carvings are painted in many colors. From them you learn that the present Hof was built in the year 1757. There is a curious mixture of pious Christian texts and symbols coming down from heathen times sun, moon, stars, the signs of fertility, and black ravens for good luck. On the massive oak timbers of the doorway, wide and high enough for hay wagons to drive in, are carved and painted the Norse Trees of Life, together with symbolic serpents to guard the humans and animals dwelling inside from evil spirits that might seek to intrude.

My host is a Maier. That is not a family name. It denotes his rank, and has the same significance as the original meaning of our word “mayor” leading man in a community. The farmstead is thus a Maierhof. But he is not merely a Maier, he is a Sattelmaier. That means a leading man on a fullycaparisoned horse; in short, a manatarms, who ranked next to a knight in Feudal times. It is the very tiptop of the peasant hierarchy. Only a few Sattelmaiers are to be found in this countryside.

When a Sattelmaier dies, the bells in the parish church toll for an hour in a special way. The coffin containing the deceased is taken to the church in a wagon lined with straw and drawn by six horses. Behind the wagon paces the dead man’s favorite steed, led by the oldest of his tenant farmers. During the funeral service, the horse looks in through the open church door, and he also inspects the grave while his master is laid to rest. On such occasions the whole countryside turns out to pay final honors.

These curious ceremonies have not been described merely to make a quaint story; they typify the spirit of this conservative yet virile folk. The proudest Sattelmaier is neither nobleman nor squire. He is a peasant a masterpeasant, if you will, yet still a peasant the first among basic equals.

Of this, Maier Johann was a good example. He knew I was coming to see him, but he had made no attempt to “dress up.” So he met me clad in an old huntingcap, heavy farm clothes, and wooden shoes flecked with mud from work about the stables. A tall, fair man, ruddy from a life spent in the open, he led me through the doorway into the long barnlike Hof, lined with cow stalls on one side and horsestalls on the other. The brick floor was partly covered by a pile of hay from the loft above and heaps of green fodder. The loft flooring was supported by massive oak beams two feet thick, handhewn and dark with age.

At the far end of the barn was a wooden partition, walling off the livingquarters. Into these we passed through a low door, and I found myself in a hall stretching the width of the Hof. This hall contained several pieces of massive furniture, obviously family heirlooms and elaborately carved. The doors and wainscoting were carved in similar fashion.

On the walls hung several portraits of army officers. My host explained. “This,” said he, pointing to the framed sketch of a bearded man in a hussar uniform, “is an ancestor of mine who was killed in the Danish War of the 1800’s.” He pointed again:

“Here is a relative who fell before Paris in 1871.”

Again: “This is my uncle, killed in the World War.”

He made no mention of an excellent likeness of himself in officer’s fieldgray. The earlier portraits were especially interesting to anyone who recalls the caste spirit of the old Prussian Army. They revealed perhaps better than aught else the peculiar social status of the Sattelmaier a masterpeasant who was nevertheless eligible to a commission alongside noblemen and gentlemen.

One other portrait hung on the wall: a painting of a very old man with shrewd blue eyes twinkling behind features withered like a red apple. My host smiled almost tenderly. “A Heuerling,” he answered my unspoken question.

“One of our tenant farmers. He died last winter at the age of ninetyfour.”

Maier Johann was the only Sattelmaier I visited. But he was merely a somewhat wealthier and more prominent specimen of a generalized type. The other masterpeasants with whom I stopped were very similar in appearance and character, and their homes were much the same. All of them appeared to be capable, practical men, naturally intelligent and with a fair measure of education; yet never “citified” and always in closest touch with the earth which nourished them. Their homes were free from pretentiousness or cheap modernity; their farms were models of careful husbandry a good, sound breed.

As might be expected, their hospitality was as ample as it was unaffected. Most of all do I remember the country breakfasts those European “second breakfasts” which are eaten in the middle of the forenoon. Picture me seated in an old room with carved wainscoting and beamed ceiling, heated by a tall tiled stove. Around a long table sit big brawny men and buxom women, eating heartily of the food with which the board is laden. Those viands may sound simple to American readers in our fortunate land of plenty, but to me, fresh from strictly rationed Berlin, they were luxuries indeed. In Berlin my butter ration was about an ounce per day; here was a stack of butter nearly as big as your head! Platters of smoked Westphalian ham and varied sausages, flanked by piles of rye bread and pumpernickel. Best of all, a big platter of hardboiled eggs fresh from the nest. No food cards for the folk who produce Germany’s food! The one thing lacking was coffee, for no one in Germany has coffee except invalids, wounded men in hospital, and soldiers at the front. But there were cups of strong meat bouillon, and later on small yet potent glasses of schnapps or brandy to wash down the meal. Then German cigars, mild and quite good, were passed around, and we sat back to chat amid a haze of blue tobacco smoke.

It was hard to leave those cordial hosts and their kindly hospitality. Always with regret did I quit the cozy livingroom, walk down the long vista of the barn, climb into my waiting car, and wave farewells until the motor had passed out of the Hof gates and taken once more to the road.

One of the outstanding features of the agricultural system of northwestern Germany is the tenant farmer. In that region he is called a Heuerling. This is the German variant of our old English word “hireling.” With us, the word has come to have a bad meaning. It signifies a man who has sold himself into some unworthy or criminal service. In German, however, it means simply a hired man, and in Northwestern Germany it applies especially to a peculiar sort of tenancy.

The Heuerling is not a casual or seasonal agricultural laborer. In Northwest Germany, landless, floating farm labor is little in evidence. Only since the outbreak of the present war with the consequent enrollment of many young peasants as soldiers has such labor been much needed. For centuries, the Heuerling has supplied the basic answer. The nearest thing we have to him in America is the “hired man” in rural New England, who is usually a farm fixture, often for life.

The New England hired man, however, is ordinarily a bachelor, living under the same roof with his employer and virtually part of the immediate family. The Heuerling has a house of his own, together with a small tract of land which he can work in his spare time. His home is a miniature farmstead. Like the spacious Hof of the proprietor, it shelters family and animals under one roof and in the closest proximity. Those animals are supplied to him by the proprietor as part of the tenancy contract at least one milch cow and several pigs, to say nothing of poultry. The Heuerling also gets a cash wage. In return for all this he is bound to give the masterpeasant who employs him most of his time. A large farm of two hundred acres may have five or six of these tenant households within its borders.

I suppose that this system, like every other, has its share of abuses. But from all the evidence I could gather, it seems to work satisfactorily. In the first place, the system is very ancient, and tenancies are made in accordance with longestablished custom and precedent. Even more important, there is no class distinction involved. As already remarked, all these folk feel themselves to be fellowpeasants, and they actually work side by side. Their basic social equality is revealed by the way they always speak to one another in the second person singular the German Du, which implies close familiarity. Another favorable sign is the way these tenancies are cherished. Some tenant farmsteads I visited had been in the same family for generations. Certainly, all the Heuerlings I met and talked with appeared to be upstanding men simple and goodnatured, if you will, yet not a type to be browbeaten or illused. The whole system is intensely personal in its relationships. In fact, it is quite feudal, still infused with the spirit of medieval times.

The best example of the quaintly feudal loyalty which the Heuerling entertains toward his masterpeasant employer is one which came to my attention during a visit to a certain large farmstead. The owner had died suddenly about a year before, leaving a widow, a son only sixteen years old, and a still younger daughter. The management of the farm was immediately taken over by the most capable of the Heuerlings in conjunction with the widow, and this joint regency was working so successfully that there seemed to be no danger that the farm would run down before the heir was old enough to take matters into his own hands.

The most vivid recollection I have of a Heuerling’s home is one I visited late one afternoon. Darkness had already fallen as my motor struggled up a muddy, rutty lane and finally stopped before a small farmstead redolent of age. The gatelike doorway opened to our knock and I found myself in a curious housebarn interior where a cow gazed tranquilly from its stall into a tiny kitchen across the way, and where chickens roosted in surprising places. This strange household was dimly lit by a few oil lamps which threw a mellow sheen on beams and walls nearly three centuries old.

The Heuerling, a hale old man and his equally hale wife, greeted me without the slightest trace of selfconsciousness. I had come at a good moment, he said, for he had something interesting to show me the pig he had long been fattening and which he had slaughtered that very morning. Visibly swelling with pride, he led me to the rear of the house, and I mentally agreed that his pride was justified, for it was certainly a mammoth porker. As the great carcass, immaculately dressed, swung gently from a beam in the ceiling, it bulked enormous in the dim light. I was told it weighed nearly five hundred pounds, and I do not think the man exaggerated.

Such, briefly, is the old Heuerling system, and the homes and human types it produces. It is interesting to note that the German Government is actively fostering this system and seeks to extend it further afield, with such modifications as new circumstances call for. Wherever a large or middlesized farm needs more regular labor, the Government offers to loan the proprietor about twofifths of the cost of building a Heuerling house, the loan to be repaid over a considerable term of years. Such houses as I saw were not of the old type. They were severely practical twostory affairs, with no room for animals, though with ample cellar space for storing vegetables and preserves. Built solidly of brick, tile, and concrete, they appear to be fireproof throughout. Except for a small kitchengarden plot they have no land attached to them, but I am told that the proprietor is bound to furnish certain amounts of meat and other foodstuffs. Rental contracts run for a year. The terms vary according to the kind of employment. One man whose home I inspected was a professional milker, brought down from Friesland. He naturally has no time for anything but his cows, so his contract calls for an almost wholly cash wage.

This young man and his sturdy little wife were undisguisedly proud of the new home they had just furnished. The furniture, though plain, looked of good quality. They told me that most of it had been paid for out of the l,000Mark ($400) loan which the Government will make to any healthy young couple at the time of their marriage. It is to be repaid in small installments, but one fourth of it is canceled every time a baby is born. So a prolific couple should not have to repay very much.

The Government seeks in every way to tie these new settlers to the land and make them into Heuerlings of the old school. One of the most striking inducements which it offers is a sort of long service bonus. After a man has served satisfactorily for five successive years, the Government offers to make him a gift of from 600 to 800 Marks if he will sign a fiveyear contract with his employer. Although these attempts to extend and modernize an ageold system have been inaugurated too recently to yield much evidence as to their success, they constitute an interesting experiment in agricultural labor relations.

How are the Nazis faring in their Battle of the Land? That is a complex question, hard to answer. Personally, I examined in detail only one sector of the “agricultural front,” and was presumably shown the best of that. However, we have some definite information, and I supplemented this by discussions with Germans and qualified foreign students of the problem.

The Third Reich does not seem to be in any immediate danger of actual starvation from the British blockade. At present rations, there is enough grain, meat, potatoes, and other stock vegetables including beet sugar to last for at least two years.

[Footnote: This was written on the basis of what I could learn in Germany down to my departure in January, 1940. I have since had information that the record cold during the winter months froze and spoiled vast amounts of stored potatoes and other vegetables. This point and its possible effects are discussed in Chapter 22.]

The German grain crop for 1938 was 27,430,000 tons about 2,000,000 tons over normal consumption. The amount of the grain reserve is secret; but it is known to be very large. Estimates range from twelve to eighteen months. Also, Germany can import grain in quantity from Hungary and other parts of Central Europe; possibly also from Russia, especially as time goes on.

The last German potato crop was 56,300,000 tons, of which less than onethird is needed for human consumption, despite the wartime shift to a potato diet.

The balance goes chiefly for feeding pigs and distillation into alcohol, used largely for commercial purposes and for mixing with motor fuels. There is an abundance of sugar beets, likewise an excellent animal feed. Cabbage, turnips, and other vegetables are all in satisfactory shape.

Germany has a growing number of hogs a vital source of fat as well as of meat. Hogs do well on a diet of sugar beets and potatoes. The last hog census for Greater Germany showed 28,613,000 porkers, an increase of no less than 53 per cent over December, 1938. Cattle herds number almost 20,000,000. Even under the worst conditions, that should furnish a lot of milk, and of meat at the present ration one pound per week per person.

That is the bright side of the picture, from the German point of view. But we have already discussed the dark side a crucial lack of fats and other shortages which result in an unbalanced diet injurious to health and strength over a period of time. The German people is today on iron rations. They cannot be notably reduced without disaster. Can they be maintained for years at their present level? The answer to that question depends on certain longrange factors, especially the efficiency of the present agricultural system and the temper of the farming population. The Nazi regime has established a highly complex economic structure with fixed prices all along the line. Agriculture has been basically socialized. To be sure, the peasant owns his land and has been protected against heavy loss, but he is no longer a free agent. He must grow what he is told and sell at established rates. He is virtually tied to the soil and his initiative is narrowly circumscribed. Economic security has been coupled with rigid state control.

For the first few years of the Nazi regime, the peasant probably gained on balance. But with the introduction of the Four Year Plan toward the close of 1936, agriculture ceased to be the WhiteHaired Boy. An intensive rearmament program coupled with colossal reconstruction projects had first call on both capital and labor. This imposed serious handicaps upon agriculture, which the war tends to intensify. One of these is a farmlabor shortage. At the annual Peasant Congress in December, 1938, Minister Darre admitted that there were 400,000 fewer workers on the land than when the Nazis came to power, and the deficit is probably much larger than that figure. Furthermore, we must remember that this is only part of a general shortage of labor in every phase of Germany’s economic life. The Government is striving to overcome this by compulsory labor service for young men and women, and it has promised that 1,000,000 Poles would be imported to work on German farms. It remains to be seen how efficient such amateur or conscript labor will be as compared with seasoned farm workers.

Recently the Government raised the prices of milk and butter as avowed incentives to the farming population. No such disturbance of its nicely balanced price system would have been made if the need for such action had not been urgent.

The Battle of the Land thus goes forward. What the outcome will be, only time can tell.

———————————-

Book Reviews

Chapter 1: The Shadow

Chapter 2: Berlin Blackout

Chapter 3: Getting on with the Job

Chapter 4: Junketing Through Germany

Chapter 5: This Detested War

Chapter 6: Vienna and Bratislava

Chapter 7: Iron Rations

Chapter 8: A Berlin Lady Goes to Market

Chapter 9: The Battle of the Land

Chapter 10: The Labor Front

Chapter 11: The Army of the Spade

Chapter 12: Hitler Youth

Chapter 13: Women of the Third Reich

Chapter 14: Behind the WinterHelp

Chapter 15: Socialized Health

Chapter 16: In a Eugenics Court

Chapter 17: I See Hitler

Chapter 18: MidWinter Berlin

Chapter 19: Berlin to Budapest

Chapter 20: The Party

Chapter 21: The Totalitarian State

Chapter 22: Closed Doors

Chapter 23: Out of the Shadow

—————————

PDF of this post (click to download or view): Into the Darkness – Chap 09

Version History

Version 5: May 8, 2022 – Re-uploaded images and PDF. Improved formatting.

Version 4: Nov 27, 2014 – Added PDF of post.

Version 3: Wed, Feb 5, 2014. Added Chapter links.

Version 2: Mon, Jan 27, 2014 – Quoted text italicized. Image of Richard Darre added.

Version 1: Published May 11 2013 – Text and some pics added.

Into the Darkness : Chapter 8: A Berlin Lady Goes to Market

admin — Tue, 20 Aug 2013 05:47:25 +0000

Into the Darkness:

An Uncensored Report from

Inside the Third Reich at War

by Lothrop Stoddard

Chapter 8: A Berlin Lady Goes to Market

If we are really to understand conditions in strange lands, it’s well to get down to cases. So let me tell the tale of the housewife in wartime Germany. She is a composite lady, the combined result of several studies I made into the daily life of families living in Berlin. Two of them had kept house in America. In that way I got intelligent comparisons between German and American standards. All these families are financially welloff; able to pay for everything they really need. I chose such families deliberately, because I wanted to eliminate the factor of financial worry from the picture. What I tried to find out was how, and to what extent, the everyday life of these Berlin homes is affected by wartime conditions.

On the day in question our composite lady sallies forth to do her marketing in the middle of the forenoon. This is her regular market day, and she should have started earlier, but couldn’t because of home work due to lack of servants. She goes at once to a nearby grocery. Of course she is a regular customer there, as she is with her butcher and other tradespeople. That is the only way she can cope with the foodcard situation.

Let’s follow her in and take a look around the place. The first thing that strikes our American eye is the meagerness of the stock. In part, this impression is due to the fact that there are no canned goods on display. They are all being kept off the market until green vegetables and autumn fruits are exhausted. Then the Government will release canned goods for public sale to bridge the gap until the next fruit and vegetable crops are available. We should also understand that, in Germany, grocery stores are more specialized than ours. They sell chiefly staple food and dairy products, together with lines such as jams and jellies, condiments, smoked meats, and light table wines. Still, the stock is not large and the store is a small place, though with several clerks all women.

As she enters the store, Milady catches the eye of the head clerk and gets immediate service. That’s a bit of good luck, for the woman is much quicker than the others, which means a saving of precious time. As soon as she reaches the counter, Milady opens a pocketbook containing several compartments, each bulging with folded papers of various colors. These are foodcardssheets of paper about a foot square, on which are printed many coupons that can be torn or cut off, stamped, or punched, as the case requires.

Let us assume that this lady shops for a goodsized family say, herself, husband, and four children. Each of these six individuals needs seven food cards; so Milady has to carry fortytwo cards with her whenever she goes to market. I may add that she has still other cards at home clothing cards for each member of the family, and special milk cards if any of her children are young. But, as Kipling would say, that is another story.

Let’s take a look at those cards as Milady unfolds them and lays them on the counter. That’s what everybody has to do in Germany before one can even start buying anything. The saleswoman has to make sure the customer hasn’t exceeded her quota, while the customer has to find out if what she wants is in stock that day. In big cities like Berlin there are, as I have said, many temporary shortages of foodstuffs. In the smaller towns there is no such trouble.

The cards are now spread out. First the bread card. This covers not only baked bread but also flour of various kinds. No difficulty here; the bread ration is ample. Secondly the sugar card, which includes jams, jellies, etc. Again no trouble. Thanks to a big sugarbeet crop, this is well taken care of. Now the meat card. This is chiefly for the butcher; but Milady happens to want a bit of sausage and smoked ham, so she uses it in the grocery store. The saleswoman informs her that she is getting the last of the ham, because it has been decreed a luxury, so farmers have been ordered not to smoke any more for the delicatessen trade.

Now the fat card. Here we run into a sore spot. Germany is short on fats; so butter, margarine, and lard are very strictly rationed. However, Milady does pretty well here, because she has three young children, who rate much more fats than do adults. Incidentally, they get some chocolate, reserved for child consumption. Next comes the soap card another sore point which we will investigate when Milady gets home. Now the adult milk card. Grownups rate only skimmed milk, which, to my American taste, is an unpleasant substance that I never use. Neither, apparently, do Germans except for cooking or sparingly in their imitation coffee or tea. Last comes a card entitled Naermittel, best translated by our word “victuals.” It’s a sort of catchall, covering a wide variety of rationed items ranging from macaroni and noodles to packaged cereals, Ersatz tea and coffee, and certain kinds of game.

We can now understand what a prolonged huddle Milady goes into with the saleswoman. Each foodcard has to be taken up separately, since quotas vary for adults, halfgrown children and small children. When a quota is calculated to the last gram, that particular card is punched, stamped, or snipped, and another card is investigated. The varied rations are jotted down on a slip of paper for adding up when the list is completed. As before stated, all this rigamarole has nothing to do with price. It’s just a preliminary canter to find out how much bread, butter, lard, sugar, or other foodstuffs the buyer is entitled to. Only when that has been ascertained are the actual prices of the goods figured out and written down on another slip.

Let’s try to translate those prices into our money. After considerable investigation, I reckon the purchasing power of German currency to Germans at a trifle over four Reichsmarks to the dollar, thus making the Reichsmark roughly equivalent to our quarter. On that basis, staple groceries average only a trifle higher than they do in America. Some items, especially bread, are cheaper. Fats are distinctly higher. Butter, for instance, is over fifty cents a pound. However, German housewives have the satisfaction of knowing that these prices are fixed by law and cannot be raised except by a new official edict.

By this time Milady’s purchases have been duly assembled on the counter. Only when strictly necessary are they sparingly wrapped in paper, because paper is scarce. String is even scarcer, so it is seldom used. Instead of paper bags, the goods are placed in containers which look like sections of fishnets. These mesh bags must be furnished by the customer, who is supposed likewise to carry away the purchases under a general “cash and carry” rule. However, should they be too heavy and bulky, the store will usually oblige a regular customer by sending along one of the women clerks, if she can find a moment to spare.

The most notable aspect of Berlin marketing is the time it takes. Often, a bill of goods coming to only a few dollars will keep saleswoman and customer engrossed for a full hour. When our synthetic lady leaves the shop, the business is over so far as she is concerned. Not so with the grocery store. Those coupons from Milady’s foodcards go to swell multicolored piles which have to be sorted out, pasted on big sheets of paper, and fully accounted for before they are turned over to the foodcontrol authorities. These jigsawpuzzle economics are usually done after business hours and sometimes last far into the night.

However, our Berlin lady is too busy with her own affairs to think about the extra work she has made for grocery clerks. Laden with her fishnet bags, she deposits them at her apartment and hurries off to do more marketing at a nearby butcher’s shop. Luck is with her when she notes a good line of meats on display, for meat distribution is uncertain. Luck is with her again when she points to a badge worn in her coat lapel and marches to the counter ahead of a line of waiting customers. That badge shows she is the mother of at least four offspring. She is thus Kinderreich – rich in children. A Kinderreich matron has many privileges, among them the right to immediate attention at any store; the theory being that she should be helped to save time for her family duties in every way. It certainly comes in handy this morning, for Milady is very anxious to get home, where she is already long overdue.

Her meat purchases are soon made. Veal cutlet at 45 cents a pound, and some pork chops at 30 cents. Then a quick dash to the vegetable market a couple of blocks away where she doesn’t need foodcards. But of the limited oranges and lemons there aren’t any for sale today.

At last Milady can go home. She is anxious to see how the washing is progressing and how her younger children are getting on. Both those worries are due to a crowning ill lack of a servant.

“Ah!” the reader may exclaim, “here is one familiar feature in wartime Berlin.” In the larger sense, however, you’d be wrong. While Germany had a shortage of competent servants even before the war, wartime conditions have intensified this shortage into an acute famine. It is no longer a question of money. No matter how good wages one may be willing to pay, servants are often unobtainable at any price.

Here’s how it happened. The instant war broke out, the Government “froze” domestic service. No servant could thenceforth leave her employer except for selfevident reasons like nonpayment of wages or genuine mistreatment. Neither could the servant demand a raise. That regulation prevented “servant stealing” by wealthier employers and a consequent skyrocketing of wage scales.

This was fine if you happened to have a citybred servant or one that was middleaged. However, Berlin servants, particularly the generalhousework variety, are apt to be young women from the country. Of course the Government had them all ticketed. So, when mobilization called the young peasants to the colors, their sisters were summoned back from domestic service to remedy a labor shortage on the farms.

Let us suppose that our Berlin lady’s generalhousework maid was thus taken away from her a couple of months after war broke out. She went promptly to an official employment agency to see what could be done. The woman in charge smiled at her sadly. “My dear lady,” she remarked, “we already have so many cases like yours ahead of you that I can’t give you much hope.” So there was our good housewife, left singlehanded with a sizeable apartment, a hardworking professional or business husband, and four children to care for. Certainly a tough break for a well to do woman who has always had competent servants.

However, since our Berlin lady is a German, she has presumably had a thorough domestic training before her marriage, that being the custom even for girls of wealthy families. So she knows how, not merely to superintend her household, but actually to do the work herself. Furthermore, since she has young children, she has first call on whatever domestic service there is to be had. That is another of her Kinderreich privileges. So we may assume that, by the time our story opens, she has been able to get the temporary services of a parttime woman to come in, say, a couple of days a week to do the washing and heavy cleaning.

Furthermore, being Kinderreich, she is almost sure that her servant problem will be solved with the spring. Next April ist, multitudes of young girls will graduate from school. Those girls are thereupon subject to a year’s Dienst, which means National Service. On the one hand, they can go into Hilfsdienst, which usually means domestic service in a family with young children. That is where our Berlin lady comes in. She is virtually certain to get one of those girl recruits. For city girls, especially, such tasks may be more congenial than Arbeitsdienst, which means work on the farm.

There are no exemptions from this compulsory service. Rich or poor, all are alike subject. During my stay in Berlin, I dined one night with some aristocratic and wealthy Germans who introduced me to their charming daughter, just returned from getting in the potato crop on a farm a hundred miles from Berlin.

As far as the servant problem is concerned, our Berlin lady’s first warwinter will presumably be the hardest, and if she is a strong, healthy young matron she probably won’t be much the worse for it. Still, it isn’t easy. She has to be up early and get breakfast for six. The husband is at the office all day, while the older children take their lunches with them and don’t get back from school until midafternoon. Her younger children are the hardest problem. They can’t be left alone, so Milady is tied to her home except on the days when her parttime servant is there. Those are the precious hours she takes for marketing and other necessary shopping. She gives the youngsters an airing when she can, but the little tots do lack outdoor exercise.

Let us now see what Milady does when she gets home from market and takes her purchases to the kitchen. That kitchen will almost certainly have a gas or electric stove and other modern conveniences. But it will probably lack American specialties like an electric icer or a washingmachine. And right there we touch upon another very sore point in wartime Germany’s domestic life. That point is soap.

We have already noted how short Germany is in butter, lard, and kindred products. But this shortage goes beyond edible fats. It applies to soap products as well. Nowhere are Germans more strictly rationed. Each person gets only one cake of toilet soap per month. The precious object is about as large as what we call a guestcake size, and it has to do the individual not only for face and hands but for the bath as well.

The same strict rationing applies to laundry soap and powder. Furthermore, the fat content of both is so low that, though it takes the dirt out, the clothes are apt to look a bit gray. And bleaches must be used sparingly, since they tend to wear out clothes. That is why most families have their washing done at home instead of sending it out to commercial laundries. Incidentally, when the washing is done, the sudsy water is not thrown away. It is carefully saved for washing floors or other heavy cleaning.

Let us assume that Milady finds the washing going well and that the little ones haven’t got into too much mischief during her absence. It’s now about time for her to get lunch. The children’s meal brings up the interesting point of juvenile milk. Only children get “whole” milk in Germany today. They are issued special milk cards and are rationed according to age. Infants up to three years get one liter per day a trifle over a quart. Children between three and six years get half a liter, and those between seven and fourteen onequarter liter half a pint. Thereafter they are considered adults and can have only skimmed milk. Those juvenile milk quotas seem pretty stiff, but they are the winter ration. I understand that they are substantially increased when the cows are turned out to grass in the spring. I may add that I have tasted children’s milk and found it good fully equal to what we in America know as Grade B.

When luncheon is over, disposal of the scraps introduces us to another notable feature in wartime Germany’s domestic economy. Every family is in duty bound not to waste anything. So each German kitchen has a covered pail into which goes all garbage that can be served to pigs. This pail is taken downstairs and dumped into a large container which is collected every day. Meat bones are usually taken by the children to school as a little patriotic chore.

What we in America call “trash” must be carefully segregated into the following categories: (1) newspapers, magazines, or other clean paper; (2) rags; (3) bottles; (4) old metal; (5) broken furniture or about anything else that is thrown away. City collectors come around for this segregated trash at regular intervals. There are no private junk dealers. An all seeing paternal state attends to even this petty salvage. Wartime Germany overlooks no details.

———————————-

Book Reviews
Chapter 1: The Shadow

Chapter 2: Berlin Blackout

Chapter 3: Getting on with the Job

Chapter 4: Junketing Through Germany

Chapter 5: This Detested War

Chapter 6: Vienna and Bratislava

Chapter 7: Iron Rations

Chapter 8: A Berlin Lady Goes to Market

Chapter 9: The Battle of the Land

Chapter 10: The Labor Front

Chapter 11: The Army of the Spade

Chapter 12: Hitler Youth

Chapter 13: Women of the Third Reich

Chapter 14: Behind the WinterHelp

Chapter 15: Socialized Health

Chapter 16: In a Eugenics Court

Chapter 17: I See Hitler

Chapter 18: MidWinter Berlin

Chapter 19: Berlin to Budapest

Chapter 20: The Party

Chapter 21: The Totalitarian State

Chapter 22: Closed Doors

Chapter 23: Out of the Shadow

———————————-

PDF of this post (click to download or view): Into the Darkness – Chap 08

Version History

Version 5: May 6, 2022 – Re-uploaded Images and PDF. Improved formatting.

Version 4: Nov 27, 2014 – Added PDF of post.

Version 3: Wed, Feb 5, 2014. Added Chapter links.

Version 2: Mon, Jan 27, 2014. Quoted text italicized.

Version 1: Published May 11 2013 – Text and some pics added.

Into the Darkness : Chapter 6: Vienna and Bratislava

admin — Tue, 21 May 2013 01:31:42 +0000

Into the Darkness:

An Uncensored Report from

Inside the Third Reich at War

by Lothrop Stoddard

Chapter 6: Vienna and Bratislava

About a fortnight after my arrival in Germany I had an opportunity to secure two worthwhile interviews away from Berlin. The first was with General Loehr, Commander in Chief of the AirArm at Vienna. The second was with Father Joseph Tiso, newly elected President of the equally new Slovak Republic, at his capital, Bratislava. Neither had as yet been interviewed by an American journalist.

Since I was to be the guest of the Air Ministry, an army transport plane had been placed at my disposal.

Accordingly, I motored out to Berlin’s main airport, accompanied by a major of the AirArm who was to be with me on the journey. A pleasant faced Hanoverian in his mid-forties, he proved to be an agreeable companion.

Junker Ju 52 transport plane

The trimotored, slategray plane took off on schedule, and we soon rose above the groundhaze into the clear air of a crisp autumn morning. Flying at about 2,000 feet, we skimmed swiftly over the flat plains of North Germany an endless patchwork of forest and farmland, interspersed with lakes and dotted with villages or towns. The sky was cloudless until we approached the Bohemian Mountains, when we encountered a billowing wave of white pouring like a giant cataract onto the Saxon plain. Rising steeply above this cloudsea, we lost sight of earth during most of our flight over Bohemia. Only now and then did I catch a glimpse of the Protectorate through a rift in the white veil. I had a quick sight of Prague. Its palace-citadel looked like a toy castle. The river Moldau was a silvery ribbon winding across the landscape.

Slovakia 1939

As we neared the hilly border between Bohemia and Austria, the cloudbelt beneath us was again unbroken, though a few mountain summits rose like dark islets above a white sea. On the outskirts of Vienna the clouds thinned and the pilot could see his way to a smooth landing. Greeted cordially by airport officials, the Major and I motored to our hotel, a quaint hostelry named the Erzherzog Karl, on the Kaerntner Strasse. We were in the heart of old Vienna, a city I am always glad to see. I knew it in its glory before the Great War, when it was the capital of the vanished Habsburg Empire. I knew it again in the dark postwar days, when hunger and despair stalked its shabby streets. Now I was to see it in a new guise demoted to a provincial center of the Third Reich.

Erzherzog Karl, on Kaerntner Strasse, Vienna

Curious to sense the feel of the place, I wandered about town all that afternoon and evening, sizing up the street crowds, revisiting old haunts, and dropping into an occasional cafe. In their general appearance the people looked similar to those in Berlin. I saw no ragged or starving persons, neither was I accosted by beggars. But the old Viennese spirit was gone. The mental atmosphere was one of tired resignation to whatever might be in store.

However, the Viennese did not have the stiff stolidity of the Berliners. They still smiled easily and entered quickly into friendly conversation. The most notable difference was in the women, who have retained some of their former chic despite the cramping limitations of hard times and clothingcards. My biggest surprise was when I saw perfectly respectable women and girls in a leading cafe casually take out their lipsticks and freshen their makeup.

Bright and early next morning the Major and I went to the Hauptkommando, a huge, dingy old building rising to the height of seven stories. Here I met the military censor who was to pass on my interviews and give me permission to get them on the wireless for transmission to America. He was a tall, slender man, obviously Austrian, as were the other officers to whom I was introduced. The necessary formalities having been completed, I motored to Air Headquarters not far away, where General Loehr awaited me.

The General received me in a large office equipped with an exceedingly long conference table. This came in handy for a panoramic series of air photographs which stretched its entire length. With these the General illustrated his story of the great air attack which he had commanded during the Polish campaign. In vigorous middle life, with grayingdark hair and an agreeable voice, he is typically Austrian in both appearance and manner. An airman since youth, his recent exploits in Poland are the climax of a brilliant professional career.

General Loehr

With soldierly promptness, General Loehr wasted no time starting the interview. His dynamic forefinger swept over the photographic panorama that lay on the conference table.

“Picture to yourself,” said he, “a thousand troop trains jammed along a sixty kilometer stretch of railway under mass attack by bombing planes.”

Taken from a great height, the photos were in miniature, but with a magnifying glass I could spot the trains, singly or in bunches along the rightofway, or filling sidings and freight yards. Now and then I noted squadrons of bombers at lower altitudes than the photographing plane and could spot their work by puffs of smoke where bombs exploded with deadly accuracy over the doubletrack railroad line.

The General went on to describe the terrific disorganization wrought by this mass air attack upon the Polish army retreating from the Posen front to form a new line before Warsaw soldiers leaping to the tracks from troop trains and losing their formations; horses and guns forced from freight cars, with no unloading platforms. This harassed army was still full of fight and tried to attack, but it so lacked coordination that the bravest efforts were vain. To make matters worse, the telephone and telegraph lines, which in Poland follow railroads rather than highways, were likewise shattered by bombing, so communication was destroyed. Loehr also showed me aerial glimpses of the countryside dotted with Polish soldiery breaking up into small groups.

Asked to give what he considered the reasons for his quick victory over the Polish air force which preceded the bombing of the army, just related, Loehr replied substantially as follows: The German air force had as its primary aim the destruction of Polish air power if possible on the ground. So the very first day of the war all practicable airfields were assailed. On that fateful first of September the weather was very bad for flying. This made the task a hard one, but the Poles were not expecting a general air attack in such weather and were thus caught unprepared. Loehr attributed much of his success to blindflying excellence, which he claimed was a German specialty. Caught unprepared, the Polish airfields were terribly mauled. To give one instance, twentyfive planes in one hangar at Cracow were destroyed by a single bomb. This first attack was followed by a second that same day. Again the Poles were unprepared, because they did not think the German bombers could reload and refuel so soon. They were thus caught salvaging their damaged planes and fighting airfield fires.

This initial German success was not without its price.

Loehr frankly admitted heavy losses in these first attacks losses which might have been troublesome if they had kept up. But the vast damage the Germans inflicted had so weakened the Polish air force that, only two days after war broke out, it was incapable of further concerted action, and Germany had obtained command of the air. Thereafter Polish air activity was limited to sporadic counterattacks by small squadrons or single planes. Only after the Polish air power was thus broken did the German AirArm turn its attention to the railways and ground forces.

Loehr stated that in this campaign Germany’s initial air preponderance was not so great as commonly imagined abroad. At the start, he had only about one third numerical advantage. This was less than the Allied lead over the Germans on the West Front during the World War, where the Allies never attained real command of the air. The General closed the interview with expressions of polite regret that he could not invite me to the luncheon he had planned for me, because he had been suddenly ordered to fly for a conference at Berlin.

I spent the afternoon writing out my interview and transcribing it in semicode for the wireless a technical job which always takes some time. The obliging censor passed it with a couple of minor changes, and I saw the interview safely on its way across the ocean, returning to my hotel just in time to meet friends with whom I was to spend the evening. We dined at The Three Hussars, a cozy little restaurant long famous for its food and wines. The wines were still up to par, but the food had sadly deteriorated from the old days. In fatshort wartime Germany, really good cooking is as unlikely as bricks made without straw.

The Three Hussars

During dinner we discussed the local situation. Both my host and his wife were members of the Party and thus enthusiastically in favor of Anschluss. They admitted, however, that Austria’s inclusion into the Third Reich had produced many economic difficulties. Much of Vienna’s local industry had been luxury products for foreign markets. This had greatly suffered since annexation, owing to several factors such as difficulty of obtaining raw materials through lack of foreign exchange, competing German lines, and the boycott of German goods (now extended to Austrian goods) in foreign lands, notably in the United States. He himself had suffered through the closing of a factory of which he had been manager. Controlled by German interests, it had been closed after Anschluss as uneconomical. Things had been pretty bad until the outbreak of war, when the increase of employment on war work coupled with army mobilization had relieved the labor situation. He believed that, on the long pull, Austria would benefit economically by Anschluss, but she was going through a trying transition period.

That evening we went to one of the bestknown music halls, where we saw a typical Viennese program, full of skits and jokes many of them sharp knocks at current conditions. I expressed my surprise and said I did not think such latitude would be tolerated in Berlin. My hostess laughingly assured me that the Viennese must have their satirical jokes. It was an historic tradition, and the German authorities had been persuaded that they had best not sit on this characteristic Austrian safetyvalve.

Another surprising matter was the number of officers and soldiers sitting together in gay parties throughout the audience. I had already noted instances of this in North Germany, but not to the same extent. Recalling as I did the rigid caste lines in both the old Imperial Army and the small professional Reichswehr established after the World War, it took me some time to get used to these evidences of social fraternization. The new trend is due to two causes. In the first place, it is part of the Nazi philosophy to break down class and caste distinctions, and weld the whole nation into a conscious Gemeinschaft an almost mystical communion, as contrasted with the rest of the world. In such a socialized nationhood, the traditional caste barriers, first between officers and soldiers, secondly between army and civilians, are obviously out of line. The present German army is undoubtedly more of a Volksheer a People’s Army, than it ever was before. This new tendency is also furthered by the fact that with better education, specialization, and technical training of the rankandfile, officers and men are more nearly on the same plane. The old Imperial Army, unmechanized and made up so largely of peasant lads commanded by Junker squires, was a vastly different institution.

Yet, despite all social changes, military discipline and authority do not seem to have suffered. No matter how friendly men and officers may be off duty, the heelclicking and stiff saluting on duty are as punctilious as they ever were in the old days.

Next morning, the Major and I set off by military car to get my interview with the new Slovak President. The little Republic of Slovakia, so recently carved from the former Czechoslovakia, is technically an independent state, though actually it is a German Protectorate. The fiction of sovereignty is carried out in every detail. The Major and I had both sent our passports to the Slovak Consulate in Vienna to obtain visas for our oneday trip in a “foreign” land.

Danube Valley

The fine weather of the past two days had given place to heavy clouds and spitting rain. Once out of Vienna, there was little to see except marsh and sodden fields as we motored down the Danube valley. To pass the time, I entered into conversation with our military chauffeur, who was an unusual type a man with an air of good breeding enhanced by slender hands and dark, well cut features. I was surprised to learn that he was a German from the Caucasus, one of the few survivors of a flourishing colony established there long ago under the Czars but wiped out by the Bolsheviks in the Russian Revolution. Escaping as a boy, he had wandered in many countries, returning at last to the ancestral Fatherland which he had never previously seen. Incidentally, it is curious how often one encounters in Germany such persons come home from the Teutonic diaspora. Besides Austrian Adolf Hitler, four of the topflight Nazi leaders were born abroad Wilhelm Bohle in Britain, Alfred Rosenberg in Russia, Rudolf Hess in Egypt, and Walther Darre in the Argentine.

From Vienna to Bratislava is only an hour’s quick run by motor car. For a national capital, Bratislava is most unhandily situated. It lies on the north bank of the Danube. On the south bank stretches the German Reich, while a few miles downstream is the Hungarian border. Bratislava is thus wedged narrowly between two foreign nations. Still, it’s the only city in Slovakia, so there’s no second choice. The rest of the little country is a jumble of mountains inhabited by a primitive and pious peasantry. When I called on the Minister of Foreign Affairs that same afternoon, his office windows looked out across the river directly at alien soil. Certainly a unique situation.

We arrived at the international bridge about noon. The usual formalities of passport and customs inspection were gone through with on the German side, plus money control. Although we were to be out of the Reich only a few hours, we had to leave our marks behind and thus quit German soil with no money except a little loose change. Fortunately we were to be the guests of the German Minister, so we did not have to go to the bother of getting Slovak currency. Incidentally, it was lucky we made the trip when we did. That very night Adolf Hitler was to have his narrow escape from being blown up by the bomb explosion in Munich which killed or wounded so many of his old companionsinarms. Thereafter, for some days, I understand that every frontier of the Reich was almost hermetically sealed.

Bratislava, capital of Slovakia

Crossing the massive bridge over the muddy Danube, our car came to a halt at the Slovak customs control. This did not take long, and we were soon motoring through the town on our way to the German Military Mission, where we were to check in. The people on the streets of Bratislava were distinctly Slavic in type, with broad faces and high cheekbones. Slovakia has a small army of its own, so I saw a few soldiers. They still wore the regulation Czechoslovak uniform, which is so like the American that they looked strangely similar to our own doughboys. All the business signs were in Slovak. The street signs were in both Slovak and German.

The Germans were apparently trying to avoid publicly ruffling Slovak sensibilities. The iron hand seems to be covered by a wellpadded glove. Their Military Mission is inconspicuously tucked away in a modest villa on a side street; so is the Legation, to which we soon drove in order to meet the Reich’s diplomatic representative. In fact, it is too small to house the Minister and his numerous family. He is therefore obliged to live at Bratislava’s one hotel.

The Minister is a clever man, as he has to be to fill so responsible a post. He is also a jovial soul, as I soon discovered when we began to swap jokes. Before long we adjourned to the hotel for lunch. That meal was an eyeopener to me. Slovakia is a neutral land which grows a surplus of foodstuffs, so rationing is unknown. What a joy it was to tuck into a Wiener Schnitzel with sour cream gravy, backed by vegetables with a good butter base! A momentary fly in the ointment appeared when a message was brought to our table that President Tiso might be unable to see me as arranged because he was closeted with Parliamentary leaders putting the last licks on Slovakia’s new legal code. My face must have shown some dismay, but the Minister put a reassuring hand on my arm. “Don’t worry,” he smiled, “I’ll get right on the phone and persuade him.” Soon he was back. As he sat down, he remarked with a sly wink: “He’s persuaded.” Accordingly, late afternoon found me hurrying from a call on the Foreign Minister to keep my rendezvous with Slovakia’s clerical President. The newspapermen in Berlin had already told me that the reverend gentleman was a pretty tough political operator more holy than righteous, as the saying goes. So I was curious.

Father Josef Tiso

The interview took place under conditions typical of this al fresco republic. Since the President’s official residence is not yet ready, his temporary office is on the second floor of an apartment house. Two stolid Slovak sentries at the house entrance alone marked it off from other buildings in the block. In response to our summons a small boy opened the house door. I climbed a flight of stone stairs, rang a bell, and was promptly ushered into the Presence.

Hitler and Tiso meeting in 1943

The President was equally informal but by no means so unimpressive. Father Tiso is a big man big head, broad face, broad shoulders, massive body, and legs like tree trunks. A typical peasant even in his black clerical garb, he is visibly rooted in the soil.

The many persons of Slovak origin in my native land naturally came to mind, so my first question was what message he had for them. The answer came quickly in a deep rich voice:

“Tell my Slovak brothers in the United States that all goes well here; that we have peace again now that the Polish War is over; that order prevails, and that our new state will work out its national evolution by its own inner strength. I beg the Slovaks in America not to believe the many rumors I know to be current there about our situation. They simply aren’t true.”

“You mean, Mr. President,” I queried, “reports that Slovakia is merely a puppet state of the Reich?”

Father Tiso smiled calmly.

“How long have you been in this country?” he asked in turn.

“About six hours,” I admitted rather ruefully.

“All right,” he shot back quickly.

“Stay here a week and travel through Slovakia. Then you’ll learn the answer yourself.”

That seemed to settle that, so I tried a new tack.

“How do Slovakia’s aims and ideals differ from the former Czechoslovakia, of which it formed a part?”

“Our aim,” began President Tiso deliberately,

“is the perfecting of Slovak nationality. Czechoslovakia was founded on the fiction of a Czechoslovak nation without the hyphen that precious hyphen which we were promised from the first as an equal member of a dual nation. The Czechs gave us nothing to say. They claimed we were merely backward Czechs, whereas there are deep cultural differences between us. We have our own history, language, art, music, folksongs. For centuries we defended this cultural heritage against foreign rulers. And on those deeplaid foundations we propose to build our own national life.”

“What sort of life?” I countered.

“Let’s take the practical angle. Will your economic development be individualistic business, peasant equality, or national socialism?”

Again the President replied slowly.

“It is true that today we are mainly a land of peasants. But the rapid increase of our population makes the development of industry an urgent necessity. However, we intend that industry shall serve the good of the whole nation not merely its own good. So I may say that our economic aim is our special type of national socialism based on Christian principles and practices. We know that capital must be allowed to earn a fair return. But we intend that the worker shall have a fair livelihood, with security against unemployment and unmerited poverty. The Government will interfere in industry to correct but not to direct.”

I turned to politics.

“Isn’t it true,” I asked,

“that you have some nonSlovak national minorities, especially Hungarians and Germans? How will you handle them?”

“We assure them cultural liberty,” said the President.

“They will have the right to their own language, education, and Parliamentary representation proportionate to their electoral voting strength.”

“Well, what about the Slovak majority?” I queried.

“How does it stand politically?”

“There is only one Slovak party in Parliament,” answered President Tiso.

“This is the National Party, until recently headed by our revered leader, the late Father Hlinka. In the recent elections, the Slovaks were unanimous, and the next elections will be five years hence. There is nothing in the Constitution to prevent the formation of new parties. But there aren’t any others just now.”

So saying, this clerical President rose to indicate that he must return to his task of building a nation. “A clever man,” I thought to myself. “He knows all the words.” When I left the presidential apartment, night had fallen. But, in neutral Bratislava, night was normal. There was no blackout. How gay I felt to walk, even in a chill rain, along welllighted streets with cheery shopwindow displays and glimpses of folk dining or drinking comfortably in restaurants and cafes! You learn to prize the simplest amenities of peacetime when you have lost them for a while, even though that apparent peace may cloak an iron repression.

———————————-

Book Reviews

Chapter 1: The Shadow

Chapter 2: Berlin Blackout

Chapter 3: Getting on with the Job

Chapter 4: Junketing Through Germany

Chapter 5: This Detested War

Chapter 6: Vienna and Bratislava

Chapter 7: Iron Rations

Chapter 8: A Berlin Lady Goes to Market

Chapter 9: The Battle of the Land

Chapter 10: The Labor Front

Chapter 11: The Army of the Spade

Chapter 12: Hitler Youth

Chapter 13: Women of the Third Reich

Chapter 14: Behind the WinterHelp

Chapter 15: Socialized Health

Chapter 16: In a Eugenics Court

Chapter 17: I See Hitler

Chapter 18: MidWinter Berlin

Chapter 19: Berlin to Budapest

Chapter 20: The Party

Chapter 21: The Totalitarian State

Chapter 22: Closed Doors

Chapter 23: Out of the Shadow

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Into the Darkness: Chapter 6 (PDF – 0.7 MB). >> Into the Darkness – Chap 06 – Ver 2

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Version 6: Jun 17, 2015. Formatting changes.

Version 6: Nov 28, 2014. Added PDF file (Ver 2) of this post.

Version 5: Nov 27, 2014. Formatting. Updated PDF (Ver 2).

Version 4: Mon, Jun 9, 2014. Added PDF file of this chapter for download.

Version 3: Wed, Feb 5, 2014. Added Chapter links.

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Version 1: Published May 21 2013 – Text and some pics added.

Into the Darkness : Chapter 5: This Detested War

admin — Mon, 20 May 2013 01:11:00 +0000

Into the Darkness:

An Uncensored Report from

Inside the Third Reich at War

by Lothrop Stoddard

Chapter 5: This Detested War

The Germans detest this war. That was the ever deepening impression I got throughout my stay in the Third Reich. Wherever I went, it was the same story. Public opinion in Berlin about the war tallied with what I found in my travels through West Central Germany as far as the Rhineland and the North Sea Coast, and through South Germany to Vienna. This attitude is shared by Nazis and non Nazis. On this point there is no difference between them.

Yet we should clearly understand the reason for this agreement. It is not founded on moral opposition to war as such. In the Third Reich, pacifism is akin to treason. Such genuine pacifists as may still exist there outside of concentration camps are so carefully camouflaged that, like Arctic hares in winter, they cannot be detected against the landscape.

German aversion to the present war, therefore, though general and genuine, is due to strictly practical reasons. What maddens the Germans is that they are obliged to fight desperately in order to keep what they now hold. During the past three years they have marched with giant strides toward the realization of one of their oldest dreams the domination of Central Europe. Long before Hitler was even heard of, MittelEuropa was a phrase to conjure with. Rightly or wrongly, most Germans believe that hegemony over mid-Europe is necessary for their national future. As often happens in such cases, they have “rationalized” their desire until they have come to think it their just due. So whatever is done to achieve this goal seems to Germans quite right and proper.

Regions of Europe (click to enlarge)

Embattled Poland was the last local obstacle to MittelEuropa. By a series of amazing diplomatic victories, Adolf Hitler had taken all the other hurdles without firing a shot. This led the average German to believe that the Fuehrer would complete the process without recourse to arms. Like Al Smith, he said: “Look at the record!” In German eyes, the Anglo French guarantee to Poland was wholly uncalled for. Why, they asked, should Britain and France stick their noses into what was none of their business? Most Germans did not believe that the Western Powers would risk a general war over Poland. The German people was thus psychologically unprepared for what actually happened.

German and Soviet attack on Poland 1939 (click to enlarge)

When they found themselves suddenly plunged into a decisive struggle with the Western Powers, Germans were torn between two emotions: disgust at what they considered a stupidly needless war, and fear for the consequences which it might involve. All sorts of persons I talked with stigmatized the war as a tragic blunder. Some of them went so far as to criticize their Government for having acted too precipitately. They thought the war could have been avoided by cleverer diplomacy. But those very persons approved of the end sought, no matter how sharply they disapproved of the means. Even ardent Nazis, who claimed that Hitler had taken the only possible course and who professed perfect confidence in ultimate victory, revealed the same underlying mood of regretful irritation.

“Think of it,” they would explain, “here we were busy making over our country, and now we have to lay aside most of our fine reconstruction plans to go and fight it out with those damned Englishmen!”

In this respect, Germany’s attitude can perhaps best be compared to that of the big winner in a poker game who was just raking in the chips when somebody kicked over the table.

Yet, needless or not, the great war was here! That was the grim reality which suddenly confronted the German people. And they seem to have been literally stunned. At first they just couldn’t believe it was true. From all I could gather, their attitude during the first month or so was that of a man in a nightmare who tries to wake up and find it is only a bad dream. The amazingly quick military decision in Poland produced, not so much popular jubilation over the victories themselves, but rather a belief that Poland’s rapid collapse would cause Britain and France to accept the situation, and that the war in the West would therefore soon be over.

That was the prevailing mood when I entered Germany toward the end of October, 1939. Almost everyone I talked to, from hotel waiters and chambermaids to chance acquaintances in restaurants and cafes, asked me if I didn’t think the war would end soon. And they didn’t need any tactful prodding. They usually raised the question themselves early in the conversation.

Another irksome feature in German eyes was that, as time passed and nothing much happened in a military way, the war tended to become a bore. No one could get very excited over intermittent land skirmishes, a few airplane dogfights, or an occasional submarine exploit. Meanwhile the numberless irritations of a strictly rationed life went steadily on. People in the cities hadn’t any too much to eat, and they had to fuss with their multitudinous food cards every time they bought a meal or went marketing. They certainly had none too much to wear, yet to get that little they must go through the rigamarole of clothing cards and Bezugscheine. Practically everything could be bought only in limited amounts, and many things could not be bought at all. Social life had been disrupted or distorted by the general blackout. While as yet there was little acute suffering, everyday life was full of minor irritants and nothing was quite normal.

The result of all this was a depressing mental atmosphere. People were obviously uneasy, dully unhappy, and uncertain about the future. At first I thought this indicated really bad morale and I began to wonder whether the German people might not soon crack under the strain.

Presently, however, I revised my opinion. For one thing, I recalled from past experience that Germans have always been complainers. They seem to enjoy having what the English call a “grouse” with Berliners perhaps the biggest grousers of the lot. The Germans have a slang word for this sort of thing. They call it meckering, which means the ill-natured bleating of a billy goat. Indeed, a long-term American resident of Berlin told me that he considered meckering a healthy sign; it is when the German says nothing that you must look out for trouble.

Another thing I noted was that, with every passing week, the Germans were putting aside their wishful thinking for a quick peace and were mentally accepting the stern reality that they were in for what would probably be a long and bitter struggle. Despite surface appearances, therefore, it became clear to me that the German people was not in what the French call a “defeatist” mood. Not once did I hear a single German, high or low, rich or poor, suggest even in the most confidential talk that the Reich should throw up the sponge and accept peace terms in accordance with British and French war aims. To give up Poland, Czechoslovakia, and Austria, for example, seems to most Germans quite impossible. By gaining control over those lands, the Germans believe they have got what they have long wanted an unshakable economic and political supremacy in Central Europe. Since Britain and France challenge that supremacy and seek to overthrow it, the attack must be met and broken, no matter how long the job may last or how painful it may become. That, in a nutshell, was the basic popular mood which I saw ripen and harden under my eyes.

England was regarded as the archenemy. There seemed to be almost no hostility towards the French, who were looked upon as Britain’s cat’s-paws and dupes. Popular hostility toward Britain, however, grew visibly more intense from day to day. In part, this was undoubtedly due to the violent diatribes in the press and in public utterances of official spokesmen; in part it was a natural and inevitable reaction against the country which was held responsible for all the discomforts of the wartime present and the dangers of the future. But, during my stay in Germany, this anti British trend seemed to be a dour anger rather than flaming emotion. People did not go around shouting Gott strafe England! as was done in the last war; neither was anything written similar to Lissauer’s Hymn of Hate. Popular hysteria was notably absent.

Indeed, the whole war psychology of the German people today seems to be quite different from that of a quarter century ago. Kaiser Wilhelm loved military glitter and trappings; his army was the Empire’s Exhibit A, and writers like Bernhardi glorified war as a healthful exercise to keep a people fit or even as a “biological necessity.” So, when real war came in 1914, the Germans went into it with jubilation. And, for the first year or two, they kept up this hysterically romantic mood.

You find nothing like that spirit in Germany today. Bitter memories of the last war and the chronic misfortunes which ensued have cured the present generation of the war heroics in which their fathers so liberally indulged. To be sure, the average German seems ready to fight and die for what he believes to be his rightful place in the world. However, he doesn’t sentimentalize over it. He’s usually hard-boiled on the subject. It’s just a dirty chore that, if needs be, must be done.

That seemed to suit the Nazi Government, which made no attempt to whip up popular emotion by either military or Party displays. During all the months I was in Berlin or other cities, I never saw any of those big parades with blaring bands and dress uniforms which we are apt to associate with wartime. The only marching soldiers I saw were occasional platoons of infantry going to change guard where sentries were posted. And the German soldier, in his lead colored steel helmet, his slate green clothes, and his clumping high boots, is a severely practical person. I should think it would be hard for the most sentimental Teuton to work up much of a thrill over this matter of fact fighting man.

Another noteworthy point is that the Government made no attempt to ease the people into the war by tactful stages. Quite the reverse. Nazi spokesmen tell you frankly that they cracked down hard from the start and made things just about as tough as the civilian population could bear. Indeed, they say that severe rationing of food and clothing from the very beginning was done not merely to avert present waste and ensure future supplies; it was done also to make people realize that they were in a life and death struggle for which no sacrifice was too great.

This was stiff medicine for a people as stunned, depressed, and jittery as the Germans certainly were during the first two months of the war. I do not recall any other Government which has prescribed a course of treatment so drastic, under similar circumstances. Flag waving and assorted heroics are the orthodox formula.

Paul Joseph Goebbels – Reich Propaganda Minister

I was therefore deeply interested to discuss this original method with the man who carried it out. He was no less a person than Dr. Paul Joseph Goebbels, head of the vast propaganda machine which is perhaps the most outstanding feature of the Third Reich.

This lithe, brunet Rhinelander, with his agile mind, cynical humor, and telling gestures, is an excellent person to interview. He is mentally on his toes every instant, and he is full of what the journalist calls “good lines.” He got one of them off early in our conversation when he stigmatized the British blockade of Germany by exclaiming:

“It’s high time that forty million people stopped dictating to eighty million when they should have a cup of coffee!”

As Dr. Goebbels warmed to his subject, his words flowed with the smoothness of a well oiled machine.

“Mr. Minister,” I began, broaching the subject uppermost in my mind, “the thing that strikes me most since I’ve been in Germany this time is the great difference between the popular mood now and in the last war. No hurrahs, parades, bands, and flowers like in 1914.”

“That’s right,” he shot back quickly, “and the reason is very simple. In 1914 the German people didn’t know what it was all about. They had no clear war aim. Some French iron mines! A bit of Belgium! Gott strafe England! Slogans and phrases! That’s no way to wage a war. And our rulers then couldn’t make them understand. They were an aristocratic caste, out of touch with the people.”

“And now?” I put in.

“Now?” he countered. “We National Socialists are men of the people. We know how our fellow citizens think and how to make them understand. But, really, the British have done it for us. They’ve given us our war aim by forcing the war on us.”

“Meaning what?” I asked.

“Meaning this,” he replied. “We made it clear to the British that we didn’t want to disturb their empire. We carefully kept our hands off sore spots like India and Ireland. Why, we even offered to give them a military guarantee of their empire’s integrity. But we made it clear that, in return, they were to keep their hands off our sphere of interest Central Europe. Well, they wouldn’t have it that way. They’re trying to crush us. So, this time, every German knows what it’s all about.”

“And that’s why they’re so quiet about it?” I asked.

“Exactly,” nodded Dr. Goebbels with a quick smile. “We Germans don’t like this war. We think it’s needless silly. But, since England feels that way, we see it’s got to be gone through with. The average German feels like a man with a chronic toothache the sooner it’s out, the better. And he doesn’t need brass bands and flowers to get it over with. That’s where our aristocrats went wrong last time. They forgot old Bismarck’s saying that hurrah patriotism isn’t like pickled herring that you can put up in barrels and store away for years. Listen! If I wanted to get the German people emotionally steamed up, I could do it in twenty four hours. But they don’t need it they don’t want it.”

“Then, psychologically ,” I began.

Georges Clemenceau – French Prime Minister ( Nov 16, 1917 to Jan 20, 1920)

Dr. Goebbels cut in with a sweeping gesture.

“Psychologically,” he answered, “we are way ahead. Last time, I admit, it was very different. Then, at the crucial moment, both France and England produced great men Clemenceau and Lloyd George, both men of the people. If we on our side could have produced a Bismarck or a Hitler, we should have won. This time, we have the right men and the others haven’t. We National Socialists understand profoundly that it is the human being who counts not just material resources. England is socially unsound. She is a colossus with feet of clay. Furthermore, England has a negative, defensive war aim. This time, it’s the British who talk in vague phrases like ‘aggression.’ What does it mean to Tommy in the trenches to tell him he’s fighting ‘aggressors’?”

“Would you mind enlarging on that a bit, Mr. Minister?” I asked.

David Lloyd Georges – British Prime Minister ( Dec 7, 1916 to Oct 22, 1922)

“Certainly not,” he answered. “The more you examine British war aims, the more negative they appear. The English admit they have nothing tangible to get out of this war but that they have a lot to lose. We, on the other hand, have very little to lose and a lot to win. Here we Germans are eighty million of us, all together. And right next to us is our sphere of influence in Central Europe everything under one roof. Sooner or later, we massed Germans are bound to get what we need. The British, on the contrary, are spread all over the map. They draw their resources from the four corners of the earth. Their empire is too dispersed, too artificial. They’re bound to lose in the long run.”

“Then the British Empire,” I began.

“Please understand,” broke in Dr. Goebbels. “We had no designs upon it. We showed this clearly when we made the naval treaty with England limiting our fleet to one third their size. In face of that fact, any responsible German who might have meditated an attack upon the British Empire would have been guilty of criminal madness. It is only now, when England forces us to a life and death struggle, that we hit back in every possible manner. All we asked was that England regard us, too, as a great nation with its own special sphere. After all, nations should be treated on their merits, for what they are. Live and let live was our motto toward England. It is the British who would not have it that way.”

“The English,” I remarked, “seem to believe that this is a struggle between democracy and dictatorship.”

“Dictatorship!” shot back Dr. Goebbels scornfully. “Isn’t the National Socialist Party essentially the German people? Aren’t its leaders men of the people? How silly to imagine that this can be what the English call dictatorship! What we today have in Germany is not a dictatorship but rather a political discipline forced upon us by the pressure of circumstances. However, since we have it, why shouldn’t we take advantage of the fact?”

“Just what do you mean by that, Mr. Minister?” I queried.

“I’ll give you an example,” answered Dr. Goebbels. “Take the difference between the way we and the English handle radio. We don’t let our people listen to foreign broadcasts; the English do. Why should we permit our people to be disturbed by foreign propaganda? Of course we broadcast in English, and the English people are legally permitted to listen in. I understand lots of them do. And can you imagine what is one of the chief discussions about it across the Channel? It is, whether our German announcer has an Oxford or a Cambridge accent! In my opinion, when a people in the midst of a life and death struggle indulge in such frivolous arguments, it doesn’t look well for them.”

“Then, Mr. Minister,” I asked, “you don’t think there is much likelihood that history will repeat itself?”

Dr. Goebbels’ dark eyes lighted.

“History never repeats itself,” he exclaimed with a sweeping gesture.

Goebbels in his office

“History is like a spiral and we believe that, since the last war, we have made an ascending turn while Britain has made a descending one. Today, we have a national unity, discipline, and leadership vastly superior to that of 1914, and even more superior to anything which England has as yet produced. The rightful claims of the German people were thwarted a generation ago. They cannot be denied a second time.”

So saying, the world famous Minister of Popular Enlightenment and Propaganda rose briskly from his chair and gave me a vigorous handshake. One last look at the slim, dynamic figure and his spacious office hung with historic portraits, and the interview was over. I had got “the dope,” all right, from headquarters. And the more one studies the text of that interview, the more revealing it becomes in many ways! It certainly was propaganda of the Goebbels brand.

———————————-

Book Reviews
Chapter 1: The Shadow

Chapter 2: Berlin Blackout

Chapter 3: Getting on with the Job

Chapter 4: Junketing Through Germany

Chapter 5: This Detested War

Chapter 6: Vienna and Bratislava

Chapter 7: Iron Rations

Chapter 8: A Berlin Lady Goes to Market

Chapter 9: The Battle of the Land

Chapter 10: The Labor Front

Chapter 11: The Army of the Spade

Chapter 12: Hitler Youth

Chapter 13: Women of the Third Reich

Chapter 14: Behind the WinterHelp

Chapter 15: Socialized Health

Chapter 16: In a Eugenics Court

Chapter 17: I See Hitler

Chapter 18: MidWinter Berlin

Chapter 19: Berlin to Budapest

Chapter 20: The Party

Chapter 21: The Totalitarian State

Chapter 22: Closed Doors

Chapter 23: Out of the Shadow

———————————-

Into the Darkness: Chapter 5 (PDF). >> Into the Darkness – Chapt 5 – This Detested War

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Version 8: Apr 30, 2022. Re-uploaded images and PDF for katana17.com.

Version 7: Jun 17, 2015. Formatting changes.

Version 6: Nov 28, 2014. Added PDF file (Ver 2) of this post.

Version 5: Mon, Jun 9, 2014. Added PDF file of this chapter for download.

Version 4: Wed, Feb 5, 2014. Added Chapter links.

Version 3: Mon, Jan 27, 2014. Quoted text italicized.

Version 2: Some pics added.

Version 1: Published May 11 2013 – Text and some pics added.

Into the Darkness : Chapter 4: Junketing Through Germany

admin — Wed, 15 May 2013 03:13:26 +0000

Into the Darkness:

An Uncensored Report from

Inside the Third Reich at War

by Lothrop Stoddard

Chapter 4: Junketing Through Germany

At the very first press conference I attended at the Propaganda Ministry we were informed that a trip was being arranged for foreign correspondents and all who wished to go were asked to register. It was to be a three-day journey through Central Germany and the northern Rhineland. Its purpose was to observe the “Inner Front“; how the peasants and industrial workers were doing their bit to carry on the war.

“I advise you to come along,” said an American colleague with whom I sat. “I can’t vouch for how much they’ll show us, but you’ll see quite a bit of the country, and then you’ll get to know a good many of the press corps. That alone should make the trip worth while for you.”

Accordingly, the fourth day after my arrival in Berlin found me ready to take the road again. Noon saw about forty journalists assembled with light luggage at the Propaganda Ministry. Ours was a cosmopolitan group, drawn mostly from European lands, together with five Americans, two Japanese, and an Egyptian with crinkly hair and complexion cafe au lait. A lone Danish lady journalist, rather pretty and on the bright side of thirty, had ventured to join this phalanx of masculinity. Having observed her at several press conferences, I judged her capable of taking care of herself in any circumstances likely to arise.

We were welcomed by a bevy of officials, some of whom would accompany us. After a fulsome speech, our itinerary was read out, telling just where we were going and what we were to see and do. Before starting on a sightseeing trip, Germans apparently like to have everything worked out down to the last detail. Good staff work, yet sometimes a bit trying; since, under no circumstances, can there be the slightest deviation from the plan prescribed.

After the oratory had ended we were bidden to fall to on several platters heaped high with sandwiches, which graced the long table about which we were standing. One of the things you quickly learn in Germany is to eat whenever eatables come your way. Food restrictions and uncertainties soon develop in you a sort of psychological hunger which is never wholly out of your mind. So we did full justice to this buffet lunch.

1940s era German buses

Leaving the festive board we descended to the street, where we found awaiting us two enormous sightseeing buses into which we climbed. We Americans had kept together, so we were all seated in Bus Number One. Near me were seated a Belgian, a Dutch, and a Hungarian journalist. Swinging out by Unter den Linden and thence to Potsdam, we presently found ourselves on one of the Third Reich’s famous motor roads. Mile on mile the twin ribbons of concrete stretched before us, separated always by a broad grassy strip. No crossings to look out for, since all intersecting roads and railways are taken care of by over or underpass. Yet this magnificent highway was virtually empty of traffic. With all private motoring forbidden, official cars, army camions or commercial trucks were almost its sole occupants.

An Autobahn

Every few miles I noted a combined restaurant and filling station tastefully built. About midafternoon we stopped at one of them for another meal. Incipient hunger was assuaged with hot frankfurters and sauerkraut, cold ham, cheese, and rye bread, washed down with plenty of schnapps and beer. Before proceeding on our way we were lined up before one of the buses and had our picture taken. Group photography is a German specialty, so this was repeated on every noteworthy occasion. Subsequently, each of us received the whole collection mounted in a handsome album, as a souvenir.

As our cavalcade rolled swiftly southwestward, the afternoon waned into misty twilight, and with the universal blackout we knew that there would be no bus lights for us. To brighten our spirits, a large carton in the rear of the bus was opened, revealing a case of brandy. Our hosts were indeed missing no opportunities to create a favorable impression. An attendant went up and down the aisle pouring drinks into paper cups. Pleased to find it was a good French brand, I expressed my appreciation to one of the Propaganda Ministry officials seated across the way. He smiled jovially, then winked, nodded toward the nearby carton, and whispered:

“Slip a bottle into your overcoat pocket while the going is good.”

Somebody started a song up ahead. The brandy was getting to work. My American seat mate slapped me on the knee.

“Looks like a good junket,” he chuckled somewhat cynically.

It was long after dark when our buses rolled through the blacked out streets of Weimar and halted before Haus Elefant. The Elephant House is the name of Weimar’s splendid new hotel. I understand it was built to accommodate the tourist trade to this picturesque old town, but now there are no tourists. That evening we were given a banquet presided over by the Gauleiter, or Provincial Governor of Thuringia, and attended by all the local Nazi notables. I sat next to him at table and thus had a chance to chat with him.

I liked that Gauleiter. He was very much a self-made man, having started as a sailor, literally “before the mast” on a windjammer. He was also self-educated, but he exemplified Lord Bacon’s dictum that much reading maketh a full man, because he had obviously digested his books. Although sincerely devoted to the Party’s program and policies, he did not parrot them forth in set phrases, as many Nazis do, but interpreted them with shrewd common sense.

I did not care much, however, for the other local notables. They looked to me like German equivalents of our own ward politicians. Few of them could have amounted to much before they landed a Party job. Even more revealing were their womenfolk, who joined us in the big hotel lounge for Ersatz coffee and liqueurs after the banquet was over. Most of them were pretentiously dowdy. They exemplified better than anything I had yet seen the fact that National Socialism is not merely a political and economic upheaval but a social revolution as well. To a very large extent it has brought the lower middle class into power. To be sure, one finds quite a few aristocrats and intellectuals in the Nazi regime.

Furthermore, there are plenty of Nazis sprung from peasant or worker stock, some of whom, like the Weimar Gauleiter, would rise in any society. Yet the lower middle class seems to be inordinately in evidence. One does not notice this so much in Berlin, because the ablest elements in the Party tend to gravitate to the seat of power. In the provinces the Spiessbuergertum comes much more to the front.

With our heavy schedule, we rose early and descended to an amazing breakfast for wartime Germany. I could hardly believe my eyes when they feasted themselves on plenteous eggs and butter unlimited. We were the guests of the Propaganda Ministry, so for us food restrictions were politely waived. One luxury, however, we did not get real coffee. That tabu was seemingly unbreakable.

With the inner man thus fortified we climbed into our buses, toured Weimar briefly to glimpse its historic sights, and took to the highroad once more. Just outside of town we were delayed by a long caravan of army trucks, crammed with everything from supplies and field kitchens to troops and machineguns. Flanked by convoys of sputtering motorcycles, they thundered endlessly past. Everything was slate gray.

The autobahn system in 1941 (click to enlarge)

All that morning we motored through the hills and valleys of Thuringia, a charming countryside dotted with mellow villages and clean little towns. Peasants and townsfolk alike looked well fed and warmly clad. The many children who waved to our passing were rosy cheeked and smiling. The day was unseasonably cold. Snow powdered even the lower hills.

Junketing through Germany

Shortly after noon we reached the Wartburg. For nearly two hours we were herded through the historic place like holiday trippers while we were shown every last detail down to the exact spot on the wall where Martin Luther’s inkstand is supposed to have missed the devil. I got distinctly bored. I wasn’t in Germany for sightseeing, and I knew the Wartburg of old. I wanted to be shown peasants, farms, dairies, cold storage plants the rural sector of that “Inner Front” we had heard so much about. But apparently we weren’t going to be shown.

Wartburg Castle overlooking Eisenach, Thuringia

I said as much to one of our official guides. He assured me that I would see peasants that very evening. It was all nicely arranged. So we rolled through country growing ever more hilly until darkness overtook us on the slopes of the Sauerland Mountains. Soon we arrived at what had originally been a large farmstead, now transformed into an inn. As we sat down to a bounteous country supper, in walked our peasants. They were the real articles, all right: sturdy, weather beaten men, washed and dressed up for the occasion yet still exhaling a faint aroma of livestock. A couple of them were assigned to each table, and I was fortunate enough to have a fine old fellow for my right-hand neighbor. In rural Germany they have a habit of sandwiching schnapps and beer, which makes a potent combination, and we soon got on famously. After several rounds, my companion waxed garrulous and began to air his views on several subjects, including the war. Before he had got far, however, a young servingman bent down and muttered in his ear:

“Gaffer, you’ve had a lot to drink. Bridle your tongue!”

Thereafter he kept to safer topics.

Farmstead in the Sauerland Mountains

In mid-evening we left our bucolic partners and motored on to a fine new winter sports hotel perched on the summit of the range, where we were to spend the night. Here winter had already come, though it was only the beginning of November. The ground was well covered with snow, and more was falling, whipped by a biting wind.

Next morning we were again up bright and early, and after another “off the record” breakfast our buses plowed through snow clogged mountain roads which wound downwards through fine forests until we emerged from the mountains and struck out into the Westphalian plains. Quaint timbered brick farmsteads and villages gave place to industrial towns until we were fairly into Germany’s “black country,” the industrial ganglion of the Rhineland, dotted with factories and murky with coal smoke. Snow had long since been left behind. The autumn day, as usual, was cloudy with spits of rain.

We grazed the outskirts of Cologne but got only a distant glimpse of its twin towered cathedral. Our destination was Duesseldorf, where we were promised the most interesting feature of the trip. This was a luncheon with the workers at the big Henkel Soap Products factory. We were to hobnob with them at their noon hour, share their food, and generally get acquainted. After the meal we and the workers were to be addressed by none other than Dr. Robert Ley, head of the Labor Front, the organization which welds all the workers of the Third Reich into a gigantic whole. A sort of Nazi One Big Union.

Henkel factory, Dusseldorf

With Teutonic punctuality, our buses drew up before the Henkel factory at precisely the appointed hour. After a brief reception by the managerial staff we repaired to the dining hall, an enormous place capable of holding over a thousand people. The workers, about equally divided between men and women, were already pouring in. They were in their work clothes; the men in dark overalls, the women mostly in smocks. They had evidently washed up for lunch, for all looked neat and clean. Besides, a soap factory ought not to be a very dirty place.

These working folk looked fairly healthy, though few of them had much color and many had pasty complexions. They seemed cheerful and smiled readily. I even noted some surreptitious sky larking between the young men and girls. However, it should be remembered that these were Rhinelanders, folk temperamentally freer and gayer than the stiff, dour Prussians to the eastward.

We journalists were mixed thoroughly with the workers. I sat at a table accommodating some twenty of them. Opposite me were three men: one a nondescript type, the second a hulking blond giant, the third a slim, darkish, handsome fellow who looked like a Frenchman. At my left hand sat a plain featured woman in middle life; at my right, a chunky little blonde girl in her late teens.

Hardly were we seated before a bevy of waitresses swept through the hall bearing large trays laden with plates of thick potato soup. The next course consisted of pork, red cabbage, and mixed vegetables, served in miniature platters with separate compartments. Slabs of rye bread went with the soup. It certainly was a hearty lunch, and well cooked. The meat gravy was good, and there was plenty of it. I could not finish all that was set before me.

My neighbors were obviously hungry and attended so strictly to the business of eating that conversation languished until toward the end of the meal. The girl beside me smilingly accepted one of my proffered cigarettes. Before I had time to invite the men across the table, each had produced a packet of his own and lit up. I then began asking a few tactful questions. They told me that this was an average luncheon, that they were working longer hours than before the war but were paid a bit extra for overtime, that part of the plant was being diverted to munitions, and that comparatively few men from the factory had as yet been called to the colors since so many of them were skilled workers. This was about all the information I got, since they were bent on asking me questions about America.

Suddenly a gong sounded and all eyes turned toward the center of the hall, where a rotund figure in a blue uniform had mounted one of the tables and was bowing smilingly to left and right in response to a growing ripple of applause. He was the great Dr. Ley. His rotund countenance was wreathed in smiles as he acknowledged the greeting.

Then he began speaking in a loud, rasping voice, addressing the assembled workers as “Soldiers of the Inner Front” and assuring them that their labors were as praiseworthy and vital to the conduct of the war as were deeds of valor on the battlefield. He then launched into a diatribe against England and its allegedly diabolical attempt to starve out the German people, including women and children, by the hunger blockade. A lurid picture of the terrible starvation years of the last war was followed by comforting reassurances that the Government had rendered such privations in the present struggle impossible because of careful preparations and methodical planning. Food cards might be annoying, but there was enough to go around and everyone, rich or poor, was assured of his or her rightful share. “This time,” he shouted, “we all eat out of the same dish!” He closed with an eloquent appeal to stand beside their inspired Fuehrer until complete and lasting victory had been won.

Dr. Robert Ley, leader of the German Labor Front (DAF)

It was a rousing speech, and it seemed to strike home. Those working folk listened with rapt attention, at the high points breaking into applause which was clearly spontaneous. Dr. Ley is obviously a good psychologist. He knows his audience. Certainly he was onto his job that day as head of the Labor Front.

When the speech was over and the workers had returned to their labors we correspondents were introduced to Dr. Ley and were then shown around the factory buildings in the usual detail. Needless to say, we did not see the munitions section to which my luncheon companion had casually alluded.

It was mid-afternoon when we reached our hotel, one of the best in the city. With nothing officially scheduled until dinnertime, a number of us strolled about town. One of my acquaintances had a severe head cold and needed to buy some handkerchiefs. He could not buy ordinary cotton or linen ones, because that required a local clothing card. However, he finally found some expensive silk handkerchiefs which were “card free,” because they were Luxuswaren luxury goods.

The dinner that night turned out to be a big banquet, with an excellent menu and vintage wines. Again the local Nazi notables were present, and they averaged better in appearance than those at Weimar. All but the Gauleiter. He was a distinctly sinister looking type; hard faced, with a cruel eye and a still crueler mouth. A sadist, if I ever saw one. I can imagine how unpopular he must be among the goodnatured, kindly Duesseldorfers.

The banquet was a lengthy affair, interspersed with speeches. Parenthetically, the German method of sandwiching food and speech seems to me a good idea; much better than our way of gobbling the entire menu and then sitting back to endure a long series of orations in a state of mingled repletion and boredom.

From the banquet room we descended to the blacked out street where, by the aid of electric torches, we got into our darkened buses and went some distance to witness a special entertainment given in our honor by the local organizations of Kraft durch Freude (Strength Through Joy). Later on I shall describe this characteristic institution of the Third Reich in some detail.

Strength Through Joy poster 1939

Kraft durch Freude (Strength Through Joy) symbol

Enough to say here that it is an elaborate system designed to brighten the lives of the working classes in various ways.

The program that evening, put on entirely by “local talent,” included choruses, group gymnastics, and vaudeville turns, most of the latter being pretty amateurish. The high spot in the program was a military band, which was really thrilling in its spirit and fire.

Next morning we could take things easy, since our train back to Berlin did not leave until noon. I therefore ordered breakfast served in my room, and received not merely eggs but a whole platter of cold meats as well. The Propaganda Ministry was evidently determined to make our trip enjoyable to the very end! Our homeward journey was uneventful. We had a special car, but the stern realities of life were brought back to us when we went into the diner and had once more to use our food cards to obtain a meager and expensive lunch. The train did not reach Berlin until after dark. It was a misty evening. When I emerged from the station, I literally could not see my hand before my face. Not a taxi was to be had, and I was far from my hotel, so I would have to go by subway. The Berlin subway system is a complicated network which needs some knowing before you can find your way about, and I had quite forgotten the combination, especially as several new lines had been built since I was last there years before. Fortunately a colleague was going my way and came to my rescue.

As I walked up the flights of steps from the subway, leaving behind me a brilliantly lighted station redolent of modernity’s inventive genius, and barged into primeval darkness, it seemed to me symbolic of what this war was doing to European civilization. This, I reflected, was no local blackout. It stretched like a vast pall over three great nations and might soon spread to other lands as well. “Where, and when, and how would it end?” I reflected as I picked my way through the gloom and finally stumbled into the lobby of the Adlon.

Map of Germany today (click to enlarge)

Map of Germany expansion in the 1930s (click to enlarge).

———————————-

Click links to go2:

Book Reviews

Chapter 1: The Shadow

Chapter 2: Berlin Blackout

Chapter 3: Getting on with the Job

Chapter 4: Junketing Through Germany

Chapter 5: This Detested War

Chapter 6: Vienna and Bratislava

Chapter 7: Iron Rations

Chapter 8: A Berlin Lady Goes to Market

Chapter 9: The Battle of the Land

Chapter 10: The Labor Front

Chapter 11: The Army of the Spade

Chapter 12: Hitler Youth

Chapter 13: Women of the Third Reich

Chapter 14: Behind the WinterHelp

Chapter 15: Socialized Health

Chapter 16: In a Eugenics Court

Chapter 17: I See Hitler

Chapter 18: MidWinter Berlin

Chapter 19: Berlin to Budapest

Chapter 20: The Party

Chapter 21: The Totalitarian State

Chapter 22: Closed Doors

Chapter 23: Out of the Shadow

Into the Darkness: Chapter 4 (PDF). >> Into The Darkness – Chapt 04 – Junketing Through Germany

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Version 7: Jun 17, 2015. Formatting changes.

Version 6: Nov 28, 2014. Added PDF file (Ver 2) of this post.

Version 5: Mon, Jun 9, 2014. Added PDF file of this chapter for download

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Version 3: Mon, Jan 27, 2014. Quoted text italicized.

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Version 1: Published May 11 2013 – Text and some pics added.

Into the Darkness : Chapter 2 – Berlin Blackout

admin — Thu, 09 May 2013 05:51:21 +0000

Into the Darkness:

An Uncensored Report from

Inside the Third Reich at War

by Lothrop Stoddard

[Note: Images not part of original text]

Chapter 2: Berlin Blackout

My entry into Berlin was not a cheering one. The train was nearly two hours late and there was no diner, so I had had nothing except the traditional cowpuncher’s breakfast a sip of water and a cigarette. The chill autumnal air made me shiver as I stepped from the train. Porters, it seemed, were scarce in wartime Germany, and I was fortunate to preempt one to carry my abundant hand luggage.

My first job was to get some German money, for I hadn’t a pfennig to my name. You can’t legally buy Reichsmarks abroad. What the traveler does is to take out a letter of credit before he leaves his native land. While in Germany he draws on this and gets what is known as Registered Marks which are much cheaper than the official quotation of 2.4 to the dollar. I bought my letter of credit in New York at the rate of nearly five to the dollar. That meant a twenty cent mark a saving of almost 100 per. cent. The traveler is supposed to use this money only for living expenses, and every draft is entered on his passport as well as on his letter of credit, thus enabling the authorities to check up on what he has spent when he leaves Germany. However, the allowance is liberal, and unless his drafts indicate that he has been buying a good deal, he will have no trouble. Of course, one gets ordinary currency. The Registered Mark is merely a bookkeeping phrase. At one of the bureaus maintained at every large railway station I drew enough cash to last me for a few days, then my porter found me one of the few taxis available. Both cab and driver were of ancient vintage, but they rattled me safely to my hotel. This was the famous Adlon, situated on Berlin’s main avenue, Unter den Linden.

Adlon Hotel

While unpacking I had the pleasure of a telephone call from a German named Sallett whom I had informed of my coming. I had known him when he was attached to the German Embassy in Washington. Now he was in the American Section of the Foreign Office, so I counted on him to start me right. Since the day was Sunday there was nothing officially to be done, but he asked me to meet him at lunch for a preliminary chat and to come to his home for dinner that same evening.

Before keeping my luncheon date, however, I took care to equip myself with food cards those precious bits of paper on which one’s very life depends. Incidentally they are not cards, but blocks of coupons, reminiscent of the trading stamps issued by some of our department stores. The clerk at the desk inscribed my name in a big book and handed me a week’s supply in the shape of little blocks of coupons variously colored. Each coupon is good for so many grams of bread, butter, meat, and other edibles. Every time you eat a meal you must tear off the various coupons required for each dish, the amount being printed on the bill of fare. And the waiter must collect them when you give your order, because he in turn must hand them in to the kitchen before he can bring you your food. This has nothing to do with price. In the last analysis, each of these foodcoupons is what the Germans call a Bezugschein an official permit to purchase an article of a specific kind and quality. Let me illustrate: You want to buy some meat. Each of your meat coupons entitles you to so many grams. You may go into an inexpensive restaurant and get the cheapest grade of sausage or you can go into the best hotel and get a finely cooked filet mignon. The price will differ enormously, but the number of meat coupons you hand over is precisely the same.

Bezugschein food coupon

I needed to take along my foodcards even though I had been invited to lunch. In Germany, no matter how wealthy your host may be, he has no more coupons than anyone else and so cannot furnish them for his guests. That is true of all meals in hotels or restaurants. It does not apply when the host invites you to his own home. He then has to do all the honors. This severely limits domestic hospitality. In such cases the guests are usually served fish, game, or some other delicacy for which food cards are not required.

Kaiserhof Hotel

Dr. Sallett had asked me to lunch with him at the Kaiserhof, a well known hotel some distance down the Wilhelmstrasse. It is the Nazi social headquarters, and when prominent members of the Party come to Berlin from the provinces they usually stop there. Sallett met me in the lobby, resplendent in a gray diplomatic uniform cut with the swank which military tailors know how to attain. Being Sunday, the usual weekday crowd was lacking in the dining room. Those who were present seemed to be much of a type vigorous men, mostly in their thirties or forties, some of them hardfaced and all with an air of assurance and authority. Nearly all of them wore the Party emblem, a button about the size of a half dollar bearing a red swastika on a white background.

Party emblem button

My first meal in the Third Reich was a distinct success. As might have been expected in this preeminent Nazi hostelry, the food was good and the service quick. The imitation coffee, an Ersatz made of roasted barley, was banal, but it was remedied by an excellent pony of old German brandy. Thereafter, my friend Sallett explained to me the various things I must do in order to get going without loss of time.

New Chancellery

When we had parted until evening, I strolled back along the Wilhelmstrasse to get the feel of my new abode. I noted how the famous street had architecturally had its face lifted since I was there a decade before. Across the broad square from the Kaiserhof stood the new Chancery, while on the opposite side of the street was the equally new Ministry for Popular Enlightenment and Propaganda an institution I was to know extremely well, since all foreign correspondents fall under its special jurisdiction. Both buildings typify the new Nazi architecture their exteriors severely plain, whatever magnificence may be within. This is a conscious reaction from the ornate exaggerations of the old Empire style, which is frowned on as vulgar and tasteless.

Reich Chancellery

Just beyond the Chancery is the rather modest old eighteenth century palace which is Adolf Hitler’s official residence. It sets well back from the street behind a high iron railing. Above its gabled roof floated a special swastika flag to denote that Der Fuehrer was at home. That is the way Germans always speak of him. Very rarely do they use his name. With a sort of impersonal reverence, he is Der Fuehrer, The Leader, in Teutonic minds. The railing before the palace has two gates through which motor cars can enter and leave by a semicircular drive. These gates were guarded by Security Police, nicknamed Schupos, in green uniforms and visored black leather hats. Before the entrance to the palace itself stood two military sentries in field gray. Across the street clustered a large group of sightseers, gazing silently at their leader’s residence. Even on weekdays one can always find such onlookers from dawn to dusk, after which loitering on the Wilhelmstrasse is not allowed.

The streets were well filled with Sunday strollers, and since the misting rain of the forenoon had let up, I thought it a good opportunity to get a look at the holiday crowds. I therefore walked for an hour or more up and down Unter den Linden, around the Pariser Platz, and finally back to my hotel. My outstanding impression of these wartime Berliners was a thoroughgoing impassivity. They seemed stolidly casual with expressionless faces. Almost never did I see a really animated conversation; neither was there laughter or even a smile. Twice I dropped briefly into a cafe. In both cases the patrons sat chatting quietly, and from snatches of talk I overheard the conversation was wholly about personal or local affairs. Not once did I catch a discussion of the war or other public matters.

Uniforms naturally abounded. Soldiers, obviously on Sunday liberty, passed and re-passed, sometimes in large groups. They never sauntered but clumped along at a fair pace, their hobnailed boots clashing heavily upon the pavement. Most of them had fine physique and all looked well nourished and generally fit. Now and then I saw a Nazi stormtrooper clad in brown with a red swastika arm band. More often I encountered a black uniformed S.S. man the Party’s Schutz Staffeln, or Elite Guard. Twice I passed groups of Hitler Youth, boys dressed entirely in dark blue, from cloth hat to baggy ski-trousers tucked into high boots.

There was much punctilious saluting. The soldiers gave the army salute, a quick touch of the fingers to helmet or forage cap. The others gave the stiff armed Nazi greeting.

The most interesting example of Berlin’s impassive popular mood was the attitude toward the tightly closed British Embassy which is just around the corner from the Adlon. There it stands, with gilded lions and unicorns upon its portals. I had rather expected that this diplomatic seat of the archenemy would attract some attention, especially on a Sunday, when this part of town was thronged with outside visitors. Yet, though I watched closely for some time, I never saw a soul give the building more than a passing glance, much less point to it or demonstrate in any way.

British Embassy in Berlin

Another surprising thing was how well dressed the people appeared. I saw many suits and overcoats which had obviously been worn a long time, but invariably they were tidy and clean. At the moment I thought this good showing was because everyone was wearing Sunday best, but I could detect little difference on subsequent days. In fact wherever I went in Germany the people dressed about the same. Nowhere did I see ragged, unkempt persons. I was told that the cheaper fabrics, made largely of wood synthetics mixed with shoddy, absorb dampness quickly, get heavy, and are hard to dry out. Nevertheless, they look good, though I doubt the efficacy of their resistance to rain and cold.

One thing those clothes did lack, however, and that was style. The range of models was small, and they were obviously designed for service rather than smartness. Overcoats were mostly of the ulster type, and that goes for the women too. While I did see a considerable number of ladies who were well dressed according to our standards, the average Berlin female, with her ulsterette or raincoat, her plain felt hat, her cotton stockings, and her low-heeled shoes, rarely warrants a second look. I may add that she uses little or no makeup and seldom has her hair waved. Such beautifying is frowned upon by strict Nazis as unpatriotic.

A street scene in central Berlin

My first stroll indicated another thing confirmed by subsequent observation. This is that Berlin remains what it always was a city lacking both color and the indefinable charm of antiquity. Its architecture is monotonous, and the drab effect is heightened by its misty northern climate. Most of the autumn season is cloudy with frequent light rain. Even on so-called clear days the low hanging sun shines wanly through a veil of mist.

By this time the early autumn dusk was falling, so I returned to the Adlon. I did not dress for my evening appointment because in wartime Germany one rarely wears even a dinner jacket. A double-breasted dark suit is deemed ample for almost all occasions. My friends the Salletts lived some distance away from my hotel, but I had ordered a taxi so I was sure of transportation. The taxi situation is one of the many drawbacks to life in wartime Berlin. Because of the strict rationing of gasoline, taxis are scarce even by day and scarcer still at night. They are supposed to be used only for business or necessity, so drivers are not allowed to take you to any place of amusement, even to the opera. Neither do they cruise the streets for fares, so unless you know a regular cab stand you can almost never pick one up.

Hotel Adlon lobby

The hotel lobby was brilliantly lighted when I descended, but thick curtains had been drawn across the entrance. I slipped through them to encounter that most trying of all wartime Berlin’s phenomena, the Verdunklung, or blackout. As I emerged through the swingdoors it hit me literally like a blow in the face. The misting rain had begun again, and it was dark as a pocket. The broad avenue of Unter den Linden was a maw of blackness.

Not a street light except the cross-slitted traffic signals at the nearby corner of the Wilhelmstrasse. They were hardly needed for the few motor cars and occasional buses that crawled slowly by. Well might they drive cautiously, for their headlights were hooded save for a tiny orifice emitting a dim ray. As I stood on the sidewalk waiting for my taxi, pedestrians picked their way warily in the inky gloom, sensed rather than seen. Some of them wore phosphorescent buttons to avoid collisions with other passersby. Others used small electric lamps to guide their steps, flashing them off quickly and always holding them pointed downward toward the ground. Any other use of a flashlight is strictly prohibited. To turn it upward to read a street sign or find a house number rates a warning shout from one of the policemen who seem to be everywhere after dark. Indeed, such action may lead to arrest and a fifty mark fine, which at par is about twenty dollars.

I entered my taxi with some trepidation. How was the driver going to find my friend’s address, avoid collisions, or even keep to the roadway on a night like this? Yet he seemed to know his business, for he forged steadily onward, with many mysterious turns and twists through the maze of unseen streets and avenues. As for me, I could not see even the houses on either hand, though I sensed their looming presence and marveled at the thought of all the life and light pent in behind numberless shrouded windows. The only visible objects were pinpoint lights of approaching motor cars and occasional trams or buses which clattered past like noisy ghosts. They were lit within by tiny blue bulbs revealing shadow passengers. Wartime Berlin had indeed become a “city of dreadful night.” No description can adequately convey the depressing, almost paralyzing, effect. It must be lived to be understood.

At length my taxi halted. The driver flashed a light which showed a couple of doorways quite close together. “It must be one of those two,” he said, as I got out and paid him. Fortunately I had with me a flashlight brought from America. It was small as a fountain pen and could be clipped into my vest pocket. The sight of it never failed to evoke envious admiration from German acquaintances. Heedless of lurking policemen, I flashed its tiny beam upward at the house number which, as usual, was perched on the tip top of a high door. It was not the right place. I tried the next door. It had no number and seemed to be disused. I tried the next house. The numbers were running the wrong way. Meanwhile the misty drizzle had increased to a smart downpour.

Feeling utterly helpless, I determined to seek information; so I pressed the button to the first floor apartment and as the latch clicked I went inside. As I walked across the hallway the apartment entrance opened and a pleasant faced young woman stood in the doorway. I explained the situation, stating that I was a total stranger. Her face grew sympathetic, then set in a quick frown.

“You say that taxi man didn’t make sure?” she exclaimed. “Ach, how stupid! The fellow ought to be reported. Wait a minute and I’ll show you myself.”

She disappeared, returning a moment later wearing a raincoat.

I protested that I could find my way from her directions, but she would have none of it.

“No, no,” she insisted. “Such treatment to a newly arrived foreigner! I am bound to make up for that driver’s inefficiency.”

Together we sallied forth into the pattering rain. On the way she explained that my friend’s apartment house, though listed as on her street, had its entrance just around the corner on another avenue. She thought that also very stupid.

Arriving as I did somewhat late, I found the others already there.

To my great pleasure the chief guest was Alexander Kirk, our Charge d’Affaires in Berlin. He is doing a fine diplomatic job in a most difficult post. Generally popular, he does not hesitate to speak plainly when he needs to. And, instead of getting offended, the Germans seem to like him all the better for it. Some weeks later, Mr. Kirk won new laurels by vetoing the usual Thanksgiving celebration of the American colony in a restaurant or hotel. He argued that, when all Germany was strictly rationed, such public feasting would be in bad taste. Instead, he invited his fellow citizens to a private dinner at his own palatial residence in a fashionable suburb. The Germans considered that the height of tactful courtesy.

The other two guests were Herr Hewel, one of Hitler’s confidential advisers, and Dr. Otto Schramm, a leading Berlin surgeon. In the course of the evening, Dr. Schramm told me about a new synthetic fat which had just been invented. Elaborate experiments were being made to produce not only a substitute for soap but also an edible compound to supplement animal fats and vegetable oils. This, he claimed, would soon remedy blockaded Germany’s chief dietary danger, since it could be produced from chemical constituents abundantly available. The talk ran late. Fortunately, I was taken back to my hotel in Herr Hewel’s car, which, being an official, he could still use.

Brandenburger Tor (Gate)

Just before reaching the Adlon we encountered a column of huge army trucks going up Unter den Linden and out through the Brandenburger Tor. I was afterward told that material and ordnance, routed through Berlin, are usually moved late at night. There must have been plenty of activity on that occasion, for long after I had retired I could hear intermittent rumblings of heavy traffic whose vibrations came to me even through the Adlon’s thick walls.

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Version History

Version 7: Apr 28, 2022. Re-uploaded images and PDF for katana17.com.

Version 6: Jun 17, 2015. Formatting changes.

Version 5: Nov 28, 2014. Added PDF file (Ver 2) of this post.

Version 4: Mon, Jun 9, 2014. Added PDF file of this chapter for download

Version 3: Wed, Feb 5, 2014. Added Chapter links.

Version 2: Published May 10 2013 – Resized pics. Added Version History notes.

Version 1: Published May 9 2013 – Text and some pics added.

Lothrop Stoddard – katana17

Into the Darkness : Chapter 14: Behind the Winter-Help

Into the Darkness:

An Uncensored Report from

Inside the Third Reich at War

by Lothrop Stoddard

Chapter 14: Behind the Winter-Help

“No one shall suffer from hunger and cold!”

“The instrument which enables us to make the most comprehensive appeal to the spirit of national solidarity.”

“Good morning!” is the cheery opening. “I bring you this with the Fuehrer’s Greetings!”

See Also:

Version History

Into the Darkness : Chapter 13: Women of the Third Reich

Into the Darkness:

An Uncensored Report from

Inside the Third Reich at War

by Lothrop Stoddard

Chapter 13: Women of the Third Reich

“Encouraging initiative. You can’t just command women. You should give them guiding principles of action. Then, within this framework, let them function with the thought that they themselves are the creators and fulfillers of those ideas.”

“Three K’s, Kinder, Kueche, Kirche — children, kitchen, church.”

Footnotes:

“the mission of woman is to minister in the home and in her profession to the needs of life from the first to last moment of man’s existence.”

FRAU GERTRUD SCHOLTZ-KLINK

“I have a useful duty to fulfil; and the work I do is an essential part of the work performed by the whole nation.”

Into the Darkness : Chapter 12: Hitler Youth

Into the Darkness:

An Uncensored Report from

Inside the Third Reich at War

by Lothrop Stoddard

Chapter 12: Hitler Youth

“not cumber the brain with a lot of useless knowledge, ninety­ five per cent of which it has no use for and hence proceeds to jettison.”

Footnotes:

“I am grateful for the kind conversation you accorded me which opened my eyes to the feeling of your country towards Britain, which I may say reciprocates exactly the feeling which I have for Germany,” Lord Baden-Powell wrote.

“I sincerely hope that we shall be able, in the near future, to give expression to it through the youth on both sides, and I will at once consult my headquarters officers and see what suggestions they can put forward.”

“I had a long talk with the ambassador, who was very insistent that the true peace between the two nations will depend on the youth being brought up on friendly terms together in forgetfulness of past differences.”

“He sees in the Scout movement a very powerful agency for helping to bring this about if we can get into closer touch with the Jugend (Youth) movement in Germany.”

“To help this he suggested that if possible we should send one or two men to meet their leaders in Germany and talk matters over and, especially, he would like me to go and see Hitler after I am back from Africa.”

“I told him that I was fully in favour of anything that would bring about a better understanding between our nations, and hoped to have further talks with him when I return from Africa.”

Version History

Into the Darkness : Chapter 11: The Army of the Spade

Into the Darkness:

An Uncensored Report from

Inside the Third Reich at War

by Lothrop Stoddard

Chapter 11: The Army of the Spade

“Whoever makes two stalks of grain to grow where formerly there was only one, can claim to have done more for his nation than a military genius who has won a great battle.”

“Of course not,” he answered. “If, say, half the people here have no local work to do, they’ll just be shifted elsewhere to other jobs. You understand,” he concluded, “we Germans are all soldiers today, no matter whether we are in or out of uniform.”

Version History

Into the Darkness : Chapter 9: The Battle of the Land

Into the Darkness:

An Uncensored Report from

Inside the Third Reich at War

by Lothrop Stoddard

Chapter 9: The Battle of the Land

“The idea engendered by Roman law that land was so much merchandise to be bought and sold at will is profoundly repugnant to German feelings. To us, soil is something sacred; the peasant and his land belong inseparably together.”

“We saw from the first that we could not reach our goal through state action alone. We needed the help of the organized farmers to put it over.”

“This means that we’ll be going every day from dawn till after dark,” he said with a deprecating smile.

“Here is a relative who fell before Paris in 1871.”

Again: “This is my uncle, killed in the World War.”

“One of our tenant farmers. He died last winter at the age of ninety­four.”

Version History

Into the Darkness : Chapter 8: A Berlin Lady Goes to Market

Into the Darkness:

An Uncensored Report from

Inside the Third Reich at War

by Lothrop Stoddard

Chapter 8: A Berlin Lady Goes to Market

Version History

Into the Darkness : Chapter 6: Vienna and Bratislava

Into the Darkness:

An Uncensored Report from

Inside the Third Reich at War

by Lothrop Stoddard

Chapter 6: Vienna and Bratislava

“Picture to yourself,” said he, “a thousand troop trains jammed along a sixty­ kilometer stretch of railway under mass­ attack by bombing planes.”

“You mean, Mr. President,” I queried, “reports that Slovakia is merely a puppet state of the Reich?”

“How long have you been in this country?” he asked in turn.

“About six hours,” I admitted rather ruefully.

“All right,” he shot back quickly.

“Stay here a week and travel through Slovakia. Then you’ll learn the answer yourself.”

“not cumber the brain with a lot of useless knowledge, ninety five per cent of which it has no use for and hence proceeds to jettison.”

“One of our tenant farmers. He died last winter at the age of ninetyfour.”

“Picture to yourself,” said he, “a thousand troop trains jammed along a sixty kilometer stretch of railway under mass attack by bombing planes.”

“that you have some nonSlovak national minorities, especially Hungarians and Germans? How will you handle them?”

“Now?” he countered. “We National Socialists are men of the people. We know how our fellow citizens think and how to make them understand. But, really, the British have done it for us. They’ve given us our war aim by forcing the war on us.”