Despite the recommendations and advice from the central assembly, the development of a joyful socialist youth life proved to be extraordinarily difficult. Everything was lacking.
The material conditions were more than meager, but also the readiness of the youth left much to be desired. In the community, there was also the fact that Sophie’s paralyzed brother had died. The wreaths and flowers on the grave mound of the deceased had not yet withered, when the entire clan evaporated with bag and baggage, without paying the last month’s rent.
Now the local council was desperately looking for a new tenant. The post-war euphoria with its need for entertainment and dancing had long since faded, but on holidays and especially at the fair there had to be music and dancing.
The inn was also closed. When the peasants and day laborers came home thirsty from working in the fields, they could not even quickly drink a cool beer or a draught soda. In the evening, the village youth played table tennis in the deserted dance hall. The mayor had found the table and the rackets somewhere. A moderate start to a happy youth life was made even without me.
A sports field was needed. After much toing and froing, we managed to keep a piece of field free as a soccer field. The field was a hard-rolled stony field with no turf. To make matters worse, it had a slight slope. The goals were made of squared timbers without nets. After a goal kick, the ball landed in the adjacent beet or grain field. Half the team then searched for the leather ball, as there was only this one ball.
Sports addresses were a dreamed-of luxury. For better distinction, one team played bare-chested, the opponents kept their shirts on. Nobody owned football shoes. To speak of a happy youth life under such conditions was sheer scorn.
As long as I lived in the village, these conditions did not change. As in the old days, the young people loitered at the baking corner in the evening and spellten, that is, they talked in their usual native dialect, where the ‘ei’ is pronounced like a long ‘ie.’ A pig becomes a ‘Schwien.’ When I still didn’t understand the dialect, a local surprised me by asking, ‘Wie wiet is es hänn?’ It took me a while before I understood.
He wanted to know ‘how far it is’ – so translated, ‘What time is it?’ But the young Silesians, East Prussians and Bohemians learned quickly and adapted to the local youth. The grain was off the stalk. The swallows’ nests under the eaves and in the cowshed, artfully built from damp clay pellets and saliva, were abandoned.
The young birds caught their first own food in flight with open beaks and strengthened their muscles for the great journey to the far south. For me it was time to push the wooden cart under the shed roof, to put axe, sickle and saw aside and to bring the school folder up to scratch.
Even though the vacations were over, I was looking forward to seeing my school friends and Rosi again. She had become even prettier, with slight bulges showing under her blouse. Ms. Opitz surprised us with joyful news: the whole class was allowed to participate in the municipal dance school. The girls cheered and clapped their hands with joy. For the boys, the enthusiasm was limited.
I really wanted to be there, if only because of Rosi. At home, I ambushed Mother with the demand for a new suit and black loafers. But mother dampened my enthusiasm. How did I imagine riding a bike in a suit? Possibly with jackboots on my feet and my low shoes on the luggage rack!
Besides, it would soon be autumn, with storms and rain. She advised me to ask for a place to sleep in the dormitory, she would get the suit and the shoes. But there was no free bed in the home. The dream of accompanying Rosi home, even by moonlight, dissipated like morning mist on a warm summer day. 𝓣𝓸 𝓑𝓮 𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓾𝓮𝓭…
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