An Ex-GI Recalls Christmas In Germany
An Ex-GI Recalls Christmas In Germany
By Jim Kane
(News Staff Reporter)
It was my third and final Christmas in Germany.
The German countryside was wearing its seasonal coat of white as I wandered through the snow toward my Army barracks. The time: Christmas Eve, 1964.
With warm memories of Vienna and Munich still lingering, places I had visited during my Christmas leave, my excitement poured forth as I told my roommate about my adventures in those cities.
My stay on post was brief, just long enough to drop off my bags and rush out again to spend Christmas with a German couple which had befriended me during my 2 1/2 years in Germany.
Although my German friends, Ludwig and Betty Busch, were expecting me for the holidays, they did not know what time I would arrive. However, they did know it would be sometime on Christmas Eve.
As I walked out the post gates, I heard laughing and loud shouting. Three GI’s, returning from a night of revelry, were holding each other
up and singing a boisterous version of a Christmas carol.
Since I was stationed then at Schwabisch Gmund, a small town in southwestern Germany, some 25 miles east of Stuttgart, I had to take the train to the latter city first, then get off at the town of Bietigheim. From there, I would have to take a bus or taxi to my destination, Cleebronn, a tiny village inaccessible by rail.
After boarding the train in Stuttgart and sinking into my seat, the train lurched forward and began moving slowly out of the station. As we moved, I could hear the strains of “Silent Night” being played by a brass band. The sounds echoed throughout the station as the train made its slow departure.
Nearby, a couple of old men were singing along to the music, expressing their own joy at the Christmas season. The singing and music drifted away as the near-empty train chugged on.
The Village of Cleebronn was snuggled among the steep hills of the State of Baden-Wurttemberg. The vineyards dotting the area seemed to rise to the sky and surrounded the simple, stone house where the Busches lived.
Herr Busch was a warm, congenial man, who was a veteran of World War II. His wife was a kindly woman who went out of her way to make my stay with them as comfortable as possible each time I paid them a visit.
Although they could speak little English and my German was still rusty, we enjoyed each other’s company im-
mensely and they accepted me as one of the family.
My day-dreaming came to an abrupt end as the train jerked to a halt. It was my stop, Bietigheim. The clock in the station read 10 p.m. The streets were deserted and a lone cab could be seen winding through the narrow cobblestone streets.
I headed for the bus stop, hoping somehow a bus would soon come. After checking the bus schedule, I discovered I had just missed the last one. I thought of hitchhiking but it was about 10 miles to my friends’ home and I wasn’t sure what direction to take.
“Perhaps a taxi will show up,” I thought to myself hopefully. But the only sound in the lonely night was the occasional noise of a passing car.
I didn’t know my friends’ telephone number, so I could not call them and tell them of my plight.
As I leaned against the bus stop sign, I noticed a young man who approached me. He asked me what the trouble was. I told him of my predicament. He told me no more buses would be running tonight and that I could spend the night with him and he would drive me to my destination in the morning.
From my broken German, he ascertained I was an American. He surmised I also was a GI because of my short haircut and told me he used to be in the German Army. His name was Gerhardt.
Being stranded in a strange town, I had no choice, so I
accepted his offer and went with him to his apartment located above a stone mason’s shop. We had to climb a rickety old ladder to reach his dwelling which was furnished with a small bed in one corner, some old furniture and a pot-bellied stove in the middle of the room.
We talked about my stay in Germany as he gave me some beer. It was late and we were both tired. But there was one problem remaining. There was only one bed. He said I should sleep in his bed as he had a backache and preferred to sleep on the floor near the stove. After convincing me I should take his bed,
we said our goodnights and fell asleep.
Christmas morning, we awoke early. Gerhardt told me he would borrow his landlord’s car and drive me to Cleebronn. We went to his landlord’s house only to find that the car would be used that day and Gerhardt was unable to use it.
I thought to myself, “Here we go again.” But Gerhardt told me his friend could drive me in his cab. We waited on the corner until the cab came by. Gerhardt flagged the driver down and told him of my plight. Before I knew it, we were wisked away in the cab, speeding through the hil-
ly countryside.
After about a half hour of traveling, we arrived at mv friend’s home. I paid the driver and asked Gerhardt to come in and meet my friends. He politely refused as he had prior commitments in Bieli-gheim and sped off in the car.
The Busches were just as happy to see me as I was to see them. I told them about my adventure and we all laughed heartily.
It was snowing now. I thought to myself, Gerhardt had been my savior on that lonely Christmas Eve night. My last Christmas in Germany would truly be a memorable one.