The Willow Wren by Philipp Schott (free ebook reader for iphone txt) 📕

Mama sat us down. She took a deep breath and then pushed some strands of loose hair from her face before spreading out the bundles on the dining table.

KLV-Lager.

That’s where Theodor and I were being sent.

Specifically, we were being sent to a KLV-Lager near the hamlet of Schönbach, not far from Colditz, a quite famous small town about fifty kilometres southeast of Leipzig. KLV was the abbreviation for Kinderlandverschickung, which directly translates as “children’s rural evacuation,” and Lager means “camp.” “Camp” may sound promising, but I knew these camps were very strictly run, and I knew that this would mean separation from Mama for the first time in my life.

Then Mama turned her attention to little Johann and Clara. They were being sent to live with a family all the way over in Aue, very near to what is now the Czech Republic. I remember Clara crying and asking softly, “Are they nice people, Mama?” to which Mama replied, “Of course,” even though I am sure that all of us understood that there was no way she could know that. These were absolute strangers. But Theodor and I were sent to the KLV-Lager based on what grades we were in, as the camps were run in association with the schools. Because I was in the lowest grade being sent and had skipped a grade, I would likely be the youngest and smallest boy at camp.

By that same afternoon we were at the train station. Mama sat on the bench between us with her hands folded tightly on her lap while we waited for the train. Nobody said anything for a long while. Then Mama spoke.

“Do you remember the Brothers Grimm story of the ‘Willow Wren and the Bear’?”

“Is that where he gets the nickname of the Fence King?” I asked.

“No, it’s the other one. The less well-known one. In the ‘Willow Wren and the Bear,’ a bear insults the wren and his family. He says that the wrens are disreputable. He is joking perhaps, thinking that it would be funny to see what a little creature like a wren will do when it is angry. The wren asks for an apology, but none is given, and the bear starts to walk away, laughing loudly. What do you think the wren does next?”

I had been staring straight ahead while she spoke, so I turned and looked at her and shook my head to indicate that I did not know. I could see that Theodor, who probably considered himself too old for fairy tales, was carefully listening too.

“Well, the wren shouts after the bear that this means war. The bear shouts back that it won’t be an even match, but so be it. The bear laughs even more as he leaves. The wren then gathers all his flying friends — mostly insects and little beasts even smaller than him — and tells them that they must join with him against the larger animals or they will forever be the butt of jokes and subject to the tyranny of those with fur and paws. The small creatures all readily agree to help him. The wren then tells the gnat to secretly follow the bear to discover his plans. This the gnat does. Later he returns to report that the bear met with a wolf, a fox and a few other big furry animals. At that meeting they decided that the fox would be their leader and that he would raise his big red bushy tail to signal the attack and lower it only to signal retreat if they were losing. This news really pleased the wren, who then instructed the hornet to sting the fox under the tail just as the battle was beginning. This worked perfectly! The fox cried out very loudly and instinctively pulled his tail down tightly, momentarily forgetting that this was a signal. This caused the bear and wolf and others to flee in panic, thinking all was lost. But that was not enough. The wren insisted that the bear come and apologize for his behaviour, or he would fight him again. The bear agreed and the war in the forest was over. The small had won and the large were evermore wary.”

Theodor and I both nodded and then returned to glumly watching for the train. Nobody said anything further, and nobody cried when the train arrived. As we said goodbye and climbed aboard, I am sure all of us believed that we would be gone for a few weeks at the most. Moreover, Tante Karoline told us that it would be fun, like a summer holiday camp except in the winter. I did not entirely believe her, but this did give me a little nugget of hope to hold on to during the train ride. This hope was snatched away the moment we stepped off the train at the unpromising-sounding Grimma train station (Colditz was closer to Schönbach but had worse connections to Leipzig) and were met by a thin-lipped, bony, very pale, blond young man in a dark grey military uniform.

“Schott and Schott? Come with me.” There was no handshake or enquiry as to the comfort of our journey. Apparently, we hesitated a second too long for his liking as he then said, in an even sharper tone, “Come on, I said! We are walking. It is far to Schönbach and it will be dark soon. You don’t look like very athletic specimens, so we can’t waste time.”

Theodor and I glanced at each other. It was true I suppose. We were both thin, small, wore glasses and had that indefinable but unmistakable aura of “bookish wimp” that immediately attracts the ire of the non-bookish the world over. The young man, who had not introduced himself, was quickly a dozen paces ahead of us on the road leading away from the station, and he did not bother to look back at any time.

“Wehrmacht uniform? Why is he wearing that?” I whispered to Theodor as we struggled along