On Hitler's Mountain by Irmgard A. Hunt

Author:Irmgard A. Hunt
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins

OUR HOME BASE IN SELB was at Birkengasse 7, but there was, of course, the second set of grandparents, Heinrich and Maria Paul. The Pauls lived in the center of town in a renovated apartment building on the Adolf Hitler Strasse. The ground floor still housed a smoky old pub that reeked of beer and cigars and that was handy for my Paul grandfather’s weekly Stammtisch (a regular gathering of friends at the same table of a pub). Sometimes I went there to say hello to him and the innkeeper. Paul Grossvati showed me off to his cronies, hardly visible through the smoke, as his fallen son’s daughter. But he would quickly bid me to go upstairs because Paul Grossmutti was waiting for me.

To my delight and wonder my grandmother could activate the automatic lock from the second floor when I pushed the “Heinrich Paul” bell. Two flights of carpeted steps led to where she stood, greeting me with her bright, open smile and holding a frosted, decorated glass door open with the back of her heel. I loved the modern look of the furnishings in the three rooms of the apartment, even though my Pöhlmann grandfather had pointed out that the Pauls’ furniture was factory-made and surely one could see the difference. I had indicated to my mother that it looked just as nice as Grandfather Pöhlmann’s furniture, but she shushed me, saying pointedly, “It is not made by hand.” It was one of the rare times she agreed with her father, both feeling that a self-respecting family would consider only handmade furniture.

The Pauls, however, had cold running water, a sink inside their living room–kitchen, and a gas range just like Tante Emma. Showers or fancy bathtubs with hot water were undreamed-of conveniences at the time, and it was only years after the war that most middle-class Germans acquired them.

The big event that fall was my Paul grandfather’s fiftieth jubilee at the Heinrich porcelain factory. Mutti had ironed our white hair ribbons and Sunday dresses, and when the whole family arrived at the factory for the ceremony his colleagues and bosses congratulated my slightly embarrassed grandfather, whose bald head seemed more polished than usual. Swastika flags decorated the auditorium, creating an appropriate setting for the speeches by important-looking men who assured the audience of the Führer’s personal interest in German workers and his confidence that they would help him win the Endsieg (final victory). The hall resounded with the national anthems and solemn shouts of “Heil Hitler!” A framed document given to my grandfather testified to his faithful service. After the speechmaking he passed around the box of fine cigars he had received. Glasses were filled with champagne, but food, the one thing that really would have made my day, was lacking, as were the faces of young men among the audience.

As Mutti’s doubts about the outcome of the war grew, she increasingly hung on to public assurances and pronouncements that Germany would prevail. On the way to a jubilee party at the Pauls’ apartment she shared her renewed optimism with Tante Emma, who agreed.

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