In the first night we were shivering with cold, sleep was out of the question. But we were lucky. In the immediate vicinity, two workers were dismantling a children’s holiday camp.
The men lent us wool blankets, as much as we wanted, and to top it all off, a folding boat. All day we paddled bare-chested across the reservoir, and at night it was cozy and warm in the tent. Since Marga and I spent most of our time together, we had set up the separate room on the second floor as a bedroom.
Now everything had its order, I thought. But that was not enough for my forward-looking father. He advised me at every opportunity: ‘A labor union has been founded at the factory, you should join it, then you’ll have your own apartment in two years at the latest. You’ll probably want to get married soon.
And you certainly won’t be without children. You should think about that. By the way, cars are being built in Zwickau now, delivery time two years. Smart to sign up now – or do you want to ride a motorcycle forever with all your kids?’
Dad’s advice was well-intentioned and not to be dismissed out of hand, but I didn’t feel the slightest desire to follow it. But my old man wouldn’t let up. Repeatedly he whined at dinner: ‘Have you been to the labor union yet, and what about registering for a car?’
I hadn’t been to the Workers’ Housing Association, and I hadn’t registered for a car either. Separating me from my Jawa was out of the question anyway, so Dad could talk as long as he wanted. But father didn’t let up. Annoyed by his constant nagging, and actively supported by my mother, I trotted to the labor union’s office and received the membership number 888.
I was to pay in 2,500 marks as a fixed capital sum, with the note that payment in installments was also possible. In addition, 600 hours of work were to be done free of charge, the young colleague added, while she typed my personal data into a pre-printed contract form. I signed.
The high membership number gave me hope that the new apartment would not be forthcoming any time soon. But I had been thoroughly deceived. I successfully delayed the car registration for a few more months. The idea of trading in my beloved three-five for a car tugged at my heartstrings.
My parents were pleased. The equity to be paid in wasn’t the problem, but the mandatory hours to be completed were. I switched from regular to rotating shifts. After the night shift, which ended early at six o’clock, I added another four to five hours to complete the mandatory hours.
It was desirable to work off the hours on a new major project at the plant, since there was a constant shortage of people, especially for ancillary services such as transport and loading work. Now and then I also did some welding work. Father didn’t spare himself and helped out a lot.
During the constant drudgery, I completely lost sight of the construction progress on the new apartment blocks. That’s why I was surprised when I received a colorful brochure from the labor union in which we were asked to indicate which floor we wanted to live on, what color tiles we wanted for our toilet, and what kind of built-in kitchen we wanted.
There were three tile types and three kitchen types to choose from. We decided on the top floor, chose green and white flamed tiles for the toilet and the type ‘Karl-Marx-Stadt’ for the fitted kitchen. Furthermore, we were told that after the completion of the interior we would be informed in time about the date of the fine cleaning. It was about time to plan the wedding date. 𝓣𝓸 𝓑𝓮 𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓾𝓮𝓭…
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