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

Moreover, the first one was planned to be into a reputedly beautiful forest region to the northeast. I was even a little bit excited. I would at least be able to see the trees and the birds, even if I could not stop long enough to properly admire them. Perhaps I would be able to impress everyone with my knowledge of nature. My clever chamber pot spilling trick had backfired, and Theodor had shut down any thought I had of more satirical rhymes, even though I had such a good one: “Herr Felix Schneider traegt gerne Kleider!” (“Mr. Felix Schneider loves to wear dresses.”) I suppose my social instincts were poor because I thought I would be able to keep my witticism within a small trusted group. I did not have any true friends at camp, but there were some boys whom I felt I could rely on to be discrete. Theodor wisely urged me not to. He felt that it would somehow get out regardless or be overheard. After some internal debate I decided that naming the trees and birds would be a much safer way to demonstrate that I was more than just a scrawny boy with glasses who had trouble carrying a chamber pot.

Classes were cancelled on the day of the first long march. We had done extra work to make up for this for a couple days prior, but to be honest, very little of consequence was being taught anyway. Felix and Herr Tischendorf assembled us in orderly rows by the flagpole after breakfast. Tischendorf was not coming on the march as this was technically a Hitler Youth outing, not a KLV-Lager outing, and he had, in any case, some unspecified work to take care of in his office, but he was there to see us off. I remember the morning well, as it was clear and bright and there had been a touch of frost overnight, leaving random traces of it here and there. I pictured invisible bubbles of freezing air drifting along in the coldest hour before dawn, settling on this roof, but not that, painting this patch of grass sparkling white, but not that.

Felix stepped forward, his recently polished uniform buttons catching the sun and glinting brilliantly. Puffing his chest out he shouted in his best Hitlerian style, “Boys of the Hitler Youth! Today we march to strengthen our bodies! Today we march to strengthen our resolve! Today we march to strengthen our commitment to the Fatherland! But today we especially march to honour the memory of our fallen comrades! A week ago, when the Amis launched another barbaric attack on the Reich’s capital.” Ami was our nickname for the Americans. It was not necessarily a slur, but with the right inflection it could be. “They killed not only babies, not only women and not only elderly people, but they also killed eight of our young comrades!”

He paused to allow a quiet murmur to ripple through us. Young comrades? As in other Hitler Youth? “The 11th Hitler Youth Anti-Aircraft Battalion suffered a direct bomb hit! All the heroes in that position were killed in the defence of their beloved Reich’s capital! Hitler Youth heroes as young as twelve years old died for their people! They served and honoured their Fatherland with the courage of wolves and today we will serve and honour their memory with the strength of bears!” He paused briefly again and then bellowed, “Hitler Youth! Form ranks and . . . march!”

I immediately had three thoughts. The first was today would not be a good day to march the wrong way, so pay particular attention! The second was bears are indeed strong, but do they use that strength to march for thirty kilometres for no practical purpose? I thought it unlikely. And the third was Hitler Youth are firing anti-aircraft guns? As we marched out of the camp, I fell in beside Jolf, who was always reasonably friendly to me and who seemed to be generally more tuned in to what was going on in the war.

“Hitler Youth Anti-Aircraft Battalion?” I asked quietly.

“Yes, in the cities they are replacing men sent to the front in any role that doesn’t absolutely require an adult. I don’t think there’s an able-bodied man over the age of eighteen anywhere other than at the front now. They’re mostly using full Hitler Youth, but as you see here in camp, we DJV are viewed as merely smaller Hitler Youth and in a pinch, they’ll use us too. Be glad you’re in camp!”

“Oh” was all I could manage.

“And do you know what else I heard?”

“No, what else?”

“There’s a whole Hitler Youth Panzer Division now, the 12th SS, and I’ve heard they’re being sent to France to be the first to greet the Allies if they try to invade!”

“That’s crazy!”

“That’s what I think too, but Hitler thinks that teenagers are extra-fanatical and will fight harder than adults. More hormones and no memory of a time before this government.”

Discussing this openly made me nervous. We were towards the back of the column of marchers and Felix was at the front, but his henchmen were dispersed throughout. I just nodded in order to draw less attention to myself, but this mild transgression was exciting too. We were both quiet for a moment and then Jolf whispered in an even quieter tone, “Do you want to hear a joke?”

I nodded quickly.

“Hitler visits the front and talks to a soldier. Hitler asks, ‘Friend, when you are in the front line under artillery fire, what do you wish for?’ The soldier replies, ‘That you, my Führer, stand next to me!’”

I stifled a shocked laugh, looked around me quickly to see if anyone was watching and then looked back at Jolf with wide eyes. He winked at me. This was no longer a mild transgression. This felt like talking about your grandmother’s bottom or peeing in church. Fortunately, other boys were chatting quietly as well, so we did not