Read in 2014 - 14: Jugend zwischen den Kriegen

„Jugend zwischen den Kriegen“ means „Youth Between the Wars“, and that is exactly what this book is about.

Its author, Hieronymus Hirschle, never set out to become an author, and his writing style is charmingly simple, as if he had just wanted to put everything he remembers of his childhood and youth into writing – which is what he did. His written memoirs were found by his daughter after his death, and published in three volumes. This one, dealing with the years 1921 to 1941, is the first.

Hirschle is a Swabian surname and literally means „little stag“. Hieronymus is an oldfashioned Catholic name, the name of a Saint, and its young bearer never really grew to like it; he always had to spell it out for people in order for them to write it correctly, and he much preferred simply being called „Mus“ by his school friends. 

The Hirschle family lived near the village where my Uncle lives, the same Uncle who gave my Mum the book by Ruth Ozan, which I have posted about here. A close relative of Mrs. Ozan’s used to live across the road from my Uncle, until she died a very old lady some time ago. Ever since my Uncle bought a house in the village, he has developed a keen interest in local history. „Jugend zwischen den Kriegen“ deals not just with Mr. Hirschle’s personal history, but also reflects the situation of the village and its inhabitants in those years, as well as the wider picture of what was going on in Germany. As my family and I know the village from many visits to my Uncle and Aunt, we were interested in reading this book as well as the one by Ruth Ozan.

When Hieronymus is born into a modest farming family, the youngest of five children, the event is described as not being much different to the birth of a calf or a piglet. No fuss is made, it is a joyful event, but just normal day-to-day business on a farm. Nonetheless, the Hirschles are a loving, close-knit family; how much the parents love each other and their children is brought home poignantly to little „Mus“ when one of his older brothers dies at the age of 12, and he finds his mother weeping harder and more bitterly than he has ever seen before.

Growing up on a farm in the 1920s meant a lot of hard physical work, rising before dawn, but nobody wasted a thought about it – it was just normal life for them. They were poor, but did not walk hungry because the farm yielded enough to feed the family. And Hieronymus‘ mother took her faith seriously; she considered it her Christian duty to really love all men and treat them as equal, helping those who were poorer than herself with food. She stood up against injustice when she witnessed it, and never stopped buying from Jewish merchants when Germans were discouraged from entering Jewish shops. She taught her children many a lesson in altruism, and had the deep love and respect of them all. In fact, the love for his mother is central to Hieronymus‘ life, and extends to his home village, to „his“ woods and fields, paths and trees, flowers and animals. He is a patriot in the best sense of the word, and does not understand how his noble sense of belonging and his love for his Heimat (there is no real equivalent to this word in English, I think) is abused by the Nazis and turned into something utterly wrong. He has learned from his parents, and feels in his heart, that it is wrong to act against others simply because they have a different background, come from a different country, speak a different language or look different, but he still joins the army as a volunteer, thinking that it is his duty to defend his beloved Vaterland.

It does not take him long to understand that there is nothing really glorious about the war, but it is just when he begins his life as a soldier when this first book ends.

To read how farming folk, villagers and small town residents used to live in the 1920s and 1930s, described not by some historian, but as the vivid memories of a boy who was there, was something I enjoyed very much. There are many touching scenes and thoughts expressed in the book, and I keep thinking of this and that, recalling what I have read. 

The second volume will mainly speak about the war, and how Hieronymus Hirschle ended up as a Prisoner of War, which I am sure will not make for such idyllic scenes as the first part of the trilogy. But I am looking forward to reading it, because I am sure that „Mus“ will not have lost his belief that there is some good in everyone, and something to be learned from every situation.

Happy Easter!

Not long ago, I told you about the Easter egg tree in the palace grounds here, where the aim was to have 10.000 eggs on the tree in time for Easter.

Well, that aim was reached - and nearly doubled! Our local paper had an article about it yesterday. There are now 17.210 eggs on the tree, all real eggs, all hand-painted or otherwise decorated by their donors. Since the organizers had promised 50 Cents to charity for each egg, quite a nice little sum has been given to two local charities.

But that is not all. There was also a competition as to who (individual, group, school, company...) would be contributing the most eggs. A small local school with only 110 students won the prize of 1.000 Euros - 3.585 eggs came from them alone! Since nothing was allowed to go to waste in the process of preparing the eggs, they have now in the freezer of their school kitchen a large provision of food made from the eggs' contents.

The paper published two photos on its website, one with the winners and some officials (which would be very boring for you), and this one, which shows how thickly clustered the eggs had to be hung in order for the tree to hold them all.

I hope the charities put the money they were given to good use; it won't reach very far, but I guess "every little helps", as they say.

Speaking of charity, maybe you remember that I mentioned before (for instance, in this post that my Dad regularly works at a charity shop. That is where my Mum's hand-knitted socks are going to these days. Her Etsy shop, through which she sold socks to dear and loyal customers from nearly all over the world, has been going from quiet to silent, and on her request, I have taken it off my blog's side bar now. Instead of rather less than more successfully trying to sell the socks, she now gives my Dad a few items every time he goes to work at the shop, and the money then goes to the charity running the shop.

No matter whether you celebrate Easter for religious reasons or simply enjoy a long weekend off, maybe spending it with family and friends, or just getting some well-deserved rest, Happy Easter to all of you!

Read in 2014 - 13: Miss Ludington's Sister

"Miss Ludington's Sister" by Edward Bellamy was published in 1884 and is a love story with a twist - actually, more than one twist. It is of just the right length, with enough words used on the description of places and people to portray them vividly, but not with so much detail as to become boring.

A young, beautiful woman with a shiny future ahead of her falls seriously ill. It takes her a long time to recover, and when she does, the illness has taken such a toll on her physically and mentally that she is hardly the same person any more. Her beauty is gone, her colours are faded, and all she wants now is to remember her past self with the happiness of her former life.

The world around her has changed, too; when she timidly starts venturing outside again, she finds her friends from school days are mostly married, have babies, moved away or simply have found other pastimes without her who used to be at the centre of their circle. The village itself is constantly growing and being modernized, so that slowly but surely, everything she knew and loved in her youth is gone.

When she is already in her middle age, she is left a vast fortune, and uses it to act out her dream of restoring the past: On an empty stretch of land, she has the high street of "her" village rebuilt according to her instructions, with every stone, every shrub and tree and every corner just the way they were when she was young and healthy and full of life. She moves into this ghostlike, empty village which becomes the scenery to her reclusive life.

A relative of hers dies, leaving behind a little boy, and the duty to raise the orphan falls on her. Much as she loves the child and treats him like a son, he does not make a difference to her outlook on life, turned backwards instead of towards the future. On the contrary, the little boy loves the life-sized portrait of Miss Ludington's former self from the first moment he sets eyes on it (not knowing who she is), and his love only grows fonder and stronger as he gets older.

Eventually, the boy is grown up, and Miss Ludington in her sixties. He returns from school, reluctant to start any profession or do anything else that will take him away from the empty village and the portrait. Instead, he develops a theory that, if proven true, could mean his abstract love for the girl in the painting can be turned into something real.

How Miss Ludington and her nephew set about to bring the past to real life, and what happens when they do, I will not tell you here. Let me just say that the story managed to surprise me more than once, although some bits were foreseeable.

This free ebook from the kindle shop was one I really enjoyed, and was almost sad to finish. Some information about the author can be found here.

Read in 2014 - 12: Vanishing England

This work of non-fiction accompanied me on my train trips to and from work for many weeks, and it is one of the few instances when I wished I had it as a physical book instead of an ebook, or at least its "full" version - mine came without illustrations. There are so many of them mentioned in the text, and they would so nicely complement the words, that I now went through the online HTML version at Project Gutenberg and browsed it for them.

Photo found on the internet; my kindle copy has a very simple cover.

"Vanishing England" was written by Peter H. Ditchfield (1854 - 1930) and published in 1910. The author bemoans how the change of times, needs of an ever-growing population and ever more industrialized society are wreaking havoc with what he loves most about England.

The book is neatly divided into chapters about walled towns, castles, churches, mansions, cottages, prehistoric remains, inns and pubs, bridges and crosses. But it is not limited to buildings and structures. It also talks about vanishing customs, fairs, documents and scenery. 

A lot of the time, what the author complains about as ugly (because too modern), is now, more than a 100 years later, considered quaint and oldfashioned. Sometimes, he seems to be a bit unrealistic about his dreams of a "better" past, wishing for the country people to remain forever in their traditional dwellings without any modern comfort, and preferably, in the mental state of their forefathers, too, when they had not yet developed a taste for pleasures such as train trips to the Seaside.

But mostly, what he says rings true, and with a bit of an effort, many old buildings could have been saved from destruction. I especially liked what he says about the old English village:

I have said in another place that no country in the world can boast of possessing rural homes and villages which have half the charm and picturesqueness of our English cottages and hamlets. They have to be known in order that they may be loved. The hasty visitor may pass them by and miss half their attractiveness. They have to be wooed in varying moods in order that they may display their charms—when the blossoms are bright in the village orchards, when the sun shines on the streams and pools and gleams on the glories of old thatch, when autumn has tinged the trees with golden tints, or when the hoar frost makes their bare branches beautiful again with new and glistening foliage. Not even in their summer garb do they look more beautiful. There is a sense of stability and a wondrous variety caused by the different nature of the materials used, the peculiar stone indigenous in various districts and the individuality stamped upon them by traditional modes of building.

In other chapters, he is very realistic about how dangerous and cruel life really was for most people; not just when they were engaged in battles and wars, but daily life with its horrible treatment of even the pettiest of crimes (or mere suspicion).

In the chapter about inns, of course there is also talk of inn signs, which made me think of John's (Scriptor Senex) posts about the subject.This illustration from the book is for you, John:

I also learned some ethymology in this book. Did you know where the word "tawdry" comes from? I do now:

Fairs have enriched our language with at least one word. There is a fair at Ely founded in connexion with the abbey built by St. Etheldreda, and at this fair a famous "fairing" was "St. Audrey's laces." St. Audrey, or Etheldreda, in the days of her youthful vanity was very fond of wearing necklaces and jewels. "St. Audrey's laces" became corrupted into "Tawdry laces"; hence the adjective has come to be applied to all cheap and showy pieces of female ornament.

When it was written, the National Trust had started its work only 15 years ago, and is often referred to in the book as having saved this or that building from being pulled down, with the amount of money spent mentioned as well, which makes for quite interesting reading.

This is one of the books that will remain on my kindle for future reference.

10.000 Easter Eggs

My hometown's beautiful palace and its grounds have been featuring on my blog many times already, and I'll keep talking about it and showing you pictures from the park and buildings because they never look exactly the same and have their own beauty in different seasons and weather.
If by now you are tired of seeing spring pictures appear on my blog, I advise you to skip this post and wait for the next one, which will be another book review.

On the Monday after my week in Ulm, I had the day off so that it would be a complete weekend for me in spite of still having been at the course on Saturday. It was a beautiful sunny day, warm enough to be going out without a heavy coat, and my Mum and I decided it was just perfect for the park.

I don't know the name of this plant, but it looked so unusual close-up:

Some views can only be enjoyed now - you won't be able to see the statue (above, right) from the path once the foliage has grown and the plants on the ground reach their full height.

The Pumpkin Festival is a big event which was created, I think, ten or 15 years ago to attract more visitors to the park (and it works - although it is quite beyond me why people travel all across the country and pay a lot of money to see piles of pumpkins). I have posted about the festival a few times already, such as here.
Some clever people from our tourist marketing office have come up with a new idea: a Straw Sculpture Festival, to be held in spring, as opposed to the Pumpkin one which of course can take place only in autumn. 
I would never pay admission to the park just to look at the straw sculptures, but with our season's tickets, we have access to the entire park, and so walked through the straw sculpture exhibition as well. The most interesting one was this small church made of straw. Even the pews and the altar are made of straw, but I could not take pictures inside because there were people in there.

Maybe you have been wondering what this post's title has to do with it. We're getting at that now:

Again, some clever people have thought of a special attraction for the park. A tree is hung with Easter eggs donated to the park from people (individuals, school classes, knitting groups, church communities, companies...) all over the area. The condition is that the eggs have to be real ones. The aim is to collect 10.000 Easter eggs and display them on the tree until the 27th of April. At 10.000, this would make it Germany's largest Easter tree. For each egg donated, the organizers will give 50 Cent for charity. 
The last I read, there are a little over 7.500 eggs by now. I couldn't believe it when I heard the number - to me, the tree looks nowhere big enough to hold that many! Not for their weight, because of course they are all empty, and eggshells don't weigh much, but for space along the tree's branches. Well, I trust they know what they're doing. At least it was interesting to look at, and some eggs are so beautifully done; can you see the ones adorned with crocheted lace?

It was, as we had expected, a perfect day for a visit to the park. Next time I'll be there, most of the flowers will be gone from the trees and shrubs, it will all look a lot greener, and different flowers will have taken the place of the spring ones.

That Time of the Year

Whenever asked which is my favourite time of the year, so far I used to reply "summer". But maybe I should change that to spring. It is such a wonderful time, flowering trees and shrubs in nearly every garden, birdsong from the early hours of the morning until sunset, butterflies and bees!
Of course, every season has something I love about it, but right now, nothing can beat spring for me.

It looks like we're in for another sunny day today. I will spend most of that at the office, but it will still be daylight until about 8.00 pm, so that there is a good chance of me getting off the train on my way home in the small town next to mine and walk the rest across the fields.

I took these pictures on the last day of March. There is no year I can remember when they were ever in full bloom so early in the year. By now, the blossoms have all gone, and the trees are a tender green.
(It's not two pictures of the same tree. There are two identical blocks of flats in that street, with two magnolia trees in front of them.)

Lucky, my downstairs neighbours' cat, is as happy about the sunshine as I am.

Read in 2014 - 11: Recalled To Life

"Recalled to Life" is the second book by Grant Allen I have read; the first was non-fiction (you can find the review and something about the author here, if you are interested).

"Recalled to Life" was first published in 1891, eight years before Allen's death. It is, I think, a rather unusual book for its times. First of all, it is written from a woman's perspective, by a male author - and he has done a rather good job, in my opinion (with the occasional annoying "after all, I am only a woman" coming from the heroine - but maybe in those days women really felt like that and relied more on the men in their lives to solve problems, conduct businesses and so on). Secondly, the heroine is determined to go against what society in general and her relatives in particular expect and advise her to do; she follows her own lead. Thirdly, the language appears much more modern than what you'd think you would find in a book from 1891. Comparing it to This Freedom, which was written in 1922, I would not instantly be able to tell which is younger. 

Now to the story: At the age of 18, Una Callingham suffers complete amnesia when she witnesses the murder of her father. Like a baby, she has to re-learn how to speak, think, read and write. Four years later, she is in possession of all her mental faculties again, but still can not remember anything from her life before the murder. People she knew back then are strangers to her, and no matter how often the police have spoken to her, trying to trigger her memory into finding anything that could be a clue to the murderer's identity, she is only left very distressed and frustrated every time.

Of course, this wouldn't be much of a story if things were not about to change. A new inspector turns up to talk to Una, handing her a bundle of paper clippings about the event, with photographs and all. Until now, her aunt had been so protective of her that she was never allowed to read what the papers wrote about her and the murder of her father. Now that she comes face to face with some of the facts that had been kept from her, she is determined to take things into her own hands and solve the mystery, knowing that she will never be able to lead a happy, self-determined life if she does not get rid of the mystery overshadowing her entire past.

By now, Una is 22 and can legally do as she pleases. There is enough money for her to travel and stay comfortably, and she sets out on her quest all optimistic and hopeful. The clues she keeps finding - both in her own memory and by talking to people who knew her and her father before - lead her as far away from England as Canada.
It is there that the circumstances of the murder and the true identity of the murderer are revealed. Some of it ranges from the surprising to the improbable, but it is all well written and kept me in suspense until (nearly) the end.

If you look for a good old-fashioned mystery (that is actually not so old-fashioned in some respects) and like free ebooks, I can recommend this one from the kindle shop.