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

While at camp we were required to be in uniform, which consisted of black pants, tan shirts and narrow black ties. We were also issued wide black belts with big steel buckles and shiny black shoes. Light brown woolen overcoats and black woolen gloves were provided for the winter and short pants for the summer. All of this was ill-fitting and uncomfortable, but the shoes were especially terrible. I considered myself to be reasonably brave, tough even, but with my blister and sore feet, these stiff overly large shoes almost made me cry. While many of the other boys might have sympathized, I intuited that Reinhard and his ilk would not have. In fact, as it happened, a few days later another boy complained about his coat, as the sleeves were much too long. Reinhard barked at him that he should be grateful to have any coat at all given how our soldiers were freezing and suffering on the Russian front. Perhaps he would like his coat sent there instead? The fact that this boy had a perfectly well-fitting coat from home that he was not allowed to wear did not enter into the equation. That the camp, the war effort and the country in general did not run on pure logic was becoming increasingly clear to me.

The shoes presented a special problem for me. In addition to being ill-fitting and uncomfortable, they exposed an embarrassing secret — I did not know how to tie my shoelaces. I was almost ten years old and I did not know how. Mama always tied them for me. I did not have to take them off or change them at school, so there had been no prior occasion when Mama was not available to do this for me. This was not a matter of her spoiling me, Lord knows she did try to teach me, but with the little ones constantly hanging on her apron strings, she did not have that much time. It was quicker and easier for her just to do it herself and hope that I would eventually figure it out. And this was also not a matter of me being stupid. I hope this does not sound arrogant of me, but not only was I not stupid, I was one of the smartest people I knew. This is not a boast but just an objectively measurable fact. To be honest, I do not know why it was so difficult for me. I know what reasons do not apply, but I do not know for sure what reasons do apply. It may be that I simply did not think it important before. Well, it was important now. Theodor was aghast. He had forgotten this about me. When he noticed me struggling and beginning to grumble and curse about it, he made some shushing noises and came over and helped me, crouching so that he would block the view of the others.

“Ludwig, you still can’t tie your shoes?!” he hissed under his breath.

“No.” I must have sounded pathetic as I was close to tears.

“God in heaven, brother, this is not going to be okay here in camp.”

I sniffled and nodded. Theodor had a particular shortcut for tying shoelaces that I had not seen before. Mama’s technique was convoluted and this way seemed more achievable. Ultimately it took a week of my brother’s fraying patience, but eventually I did it on my own. I was not proud. I was only relieved.

One of the boys had noticed this miniature drama of the shoelaces and, being unusually polite and discrete, asked Theodor whether there was something wrong with me rather than making fun of me as most of the boys would have. He tried to whisper so that I would not hear, but I understood the gist of the question. Theodor, on the other hand, made no attempt to keep his answer quiet. Casting a quick sideways glance towards me he said, “Ludwig? Who knows what the issue is. He’s just not of this world.”

After putting on our uniforms we were required to make our beds with military precision and to clean up the dormitory. Each boy was assigned a specific cleaning task, and these were more or less rotated. I say “more or less” because Reinhard played favourites and the rotations were skewed to frequently give the more onerous tasks to the boys on his bad list. I was often on this list, not because of any disciplinary infractions but for the same reasons that Ulrich and his gang had picked on me and for the same reasons that our guide from the railway station looked at me with disdain. I was small and skinny and wore glasses and evidently had “victim” tattooed on my forehead in invisible ink that only bullies could read.

The most onerous of these onerous tasks was the emptying of the chamber pot. The camp was served by privies in separate huts, but we were not permitted to leave the dormitories at night, whether for reasons of safety or discipline was never made entirely clear. Neither explanation made sense anyway, but, as with every aspect of camp life, this was not a point that could be debated or negotiated. Consequently, in order to deal with our needs at night a large chamber pot in the form of a tin bucket was set up in the far corner of the room. The unfortunate to whom this chore had been delegated had to take the bucket in the morning when it was often still dark and walk down the icy slippery path to the privy and empty it into what we referred to as the “pit of doom.” The bucket then needed to be rinsed and returned to its corner. That this whole procedure was highly noxious goes without saying. It was not only noxious but hazardous as well, because a weak boy like me was easily unbalanced on the icy path by a full and heavy bucket sloshing as I