Broken Lives Read online

  The very diversity of their family backgrounds and social networks created a wide range of potential choices for the members of the 1920s cohort. On the one hand, the liberal and Social Democratic strains of their legacy offered them considerable chances for free development; on the other, the decisions of their ancestors had produced an authoritarian and nationalist background that severely constrained actions in the present. Already within single families like the Schirmers, the children reacted differently: one son followed the parental example and turned into a nationalist bureaucrat, while the other rejected fatherly authority and became a rebellious Communist.67 In wider society, schools, friendship circles, youth groups, churches, and other civil society organizations also offered contending views, encouraging individuals to follow conflicting paths. Unfortunately, many of the Weimar children later had to admit that they ended up making choices that turned out disastrously.

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  WEIMAR CHILDREN

  During the 1920s the birth of a new child was usually a joyous event, a reaffirmation of life after the carnage of the Great War—especially when it was a boy. Parents were proud to have a son and heir, even if a demoted female sibling might resent the little newcomer. Middle-class families sent out printed announcements to inform friends and acquaintances of the name of the new member and hired a photographer to record the happy occasion. In order to make the infant a legal member of the community, a registry clerk would fill out a birth certificate in precise Germanic script with information on the child’s parents, birthplace, date, and religion. Thereafter, relatives would gather for a formal church baptism, where the baby would sometimes cry when sprinkled with cold water. A loyal official might even succeed in persuading President Paul von Hindenburg to serve as an honorary godfather.1

  Such descriptions of birth mark the start of most autobiographies, even if the protagonist cannot remember the exact circumstances. “My zero hour was on a sunny morning in early summer of the inflation year 1923, i.e., on June 18 at 12:15 noon,” engineer Karl Härtel recalled on the basis of family stories that filled in the details. “I had a relatively easy time, because before me numerous siblings had gone the same way and my mother had survived eight births virtually without a problem.”2 Gerhard Krapf’s first “dim and hazy, quite isolated and single-image memories” began at age three, when he remembered looking from a window at a dancing bear in the courtyard. In her novel Patterns of Childhood, Christa Wolf, born in 1929, marveled about the magical onset of consciousness through the first crucial enunciation of the word “I.”3 Subsequent narratives then present the unfolding of this incipient personality through an entire life course.

  Inspired by the groundbreaking work of Philippe Ariès, historians have begun to explore how this universal pattern, repeated millions of time, has differed in time and place.4 Their work has demonstrated that childhood is culturally constructed by the ideas and values assigned to it, which run the gamut from treating children as little adults to caring for them as vulnerable infants. Moreover, demographers argue that the population transition in the late nineteenth century from having a large number of offspring, since many died in infancy, to only a few also fundamentally transformed the emotional attitudes of parents from indifference to intense involvement. At the same time, scholars have painstakingly searched the fragmentary record for clues to children’s actual experiences in their efforts to wrest control of their lives from adults.5 The result has been a more complex understanding of childhood as a period of struggle to discover one’s self.

  Most memories of growing up in the Weimar Republic are surprisingly positive and claim that “my childhood was very happy.” Contrasting with the political image of incessant crises, these personal recollections generally emphasize that parents managed to provide “a good sense of comfort and security” that allowed children to flourish.6 No doubt, ideals of child-rearing remained contested between authoritarian paternalism and permissive liberalism, while family size continued to vary, with poorer parents often having multiple babies due to lack of birth control and bourgeois mothers restricting their number. But this contradictory mixture confronted children with different expectations, providing a combination of support and challenge that encouraged the formation of resilient personalities. Only at the beginning and especially toward the end of the Republic did economic difficulties and political forebodings actively threaten children’s futures.7

  Such “happy, carefree” childhoods had a lasting impact on life trajectories—they created an expectation of security and normalcy that individuals struggled thereafter to regain. In contrast to the privations of World War I, the mass unemployment of the Great Depression, and the suffering at the front and at home in World War II, the Republic’s middle years were a time of relative peace. For many workers and socialists, the first German democracy was a time of hope, when rising prosperity and social reform promised a better life.8 But for defenders of authoritarian traditions and for radical anti-Semites, Weimar’s modernist experiments endangered an entire worldview and lifestyle. In order to resolve the paradox between memories of “a golden childhood” and descriptions of Weimar’s many problems, it is necessary to take a closer look at the actual experiences in home, school, and neighborhood that governed children’s lives.9

  THE SHELTER OF HOME

  In spite of rather “unhygienic conditions,” most Weimar children were born at home. Birth was considered a natural act rather than a medical problem. Karl Härtel remembered that when another sibling was about to be born, “a neighbor boiled water in several pots on the small stove, prepared clean towels, and sent my twelve-year-old sister … to the midwife so that she could begin her blessed work.” The worried father and the nervous children were sent out of the room, listening for the woman’s screams during contractions that might signal progress. “Racked by pain, the mother lay in her bed in the tiny cellar room,” hoping to hear the “first cry of a new life” that would signal the end of the ordeal. After a cursory cleanup of mother and baby, the midwife called the husband and siblings back in and announced to the latter, “a little sister has arrived for you.” They were now supposed to admire the infant: “Look here in the bed, that’s where she lies and sleeps.”10 Typical baby pictures such as Ruth Bulwin’s celebrate the maternal bond (image 5).

  Especially in poor families, birth and infancy remained hazardous, and many children did not survive into adulthood. If their siblings had died as infants, the loss was noted with little emotion: “I never got to know the other five children, since these had already passed away and turned their back on the world,” one author stated as a matter of fact. But when a somewhat older brother or cousin suddenly perished, for instance, from a tetanus infection, it was “a human tragedy,” for fate seemed to have played a cruel trick on a helpless child. Childhood diseases such as whooping cough, scarlet fever, measles, and diphtheria were therefore major trials that upset an entire household, requiring a physician’s costly diagnosis, the purchase of medicine from an apothecary, and a lengthy bed rest. After a particularly difficult double pneumonia, one relieved mother told her convalescent son, “It is a miracle that you are still alive.”11

  5. Mother and child. Source: Ruth Bulwin, Spätes Echo.

  Usually mother was the center of the childhood universe, as in most families she was “fully responsible for the children and the household.” Chemist Heinz Schultheis remembered that, without modern appliances, women had to make virtually everything themselves; therefore the “work-worn mother’s hands” could never rest. Laundry was done on the “great wash day” once a month, with every item boiled, wrung out, and hung up to dry before being folded and locked away. Moreover, “pieces of clothing were made within one’s four walls,” requiring elaborate sewing and mending. At the same time, shopping in little specialty stores and at the weekly farmer’s market involved time-consuming haggling over price and bagging by hand. Food was mostly prepared from scratch with recipes guarded or shared like secrets. Toddlers
would often tag along when older girls were recruited to do menial household tasks.12

  Most fathers, by contrast, appeared distant because they had little contact with infants. Their “authority was unquestioned,” even if no longer draconian. Due to the gendered division of labor, men were the breadwinners of the family, bestowing their titles upon their wives, who liked to be called Frau Doktor, even if they were not themselves physicians. Because fathers were away at work all day, they saw their offspring only in the evening or on weekends, therefore projecting merely a shadowy presence. In most families, the paterfamilias was responsible for maintaining authoritarian discipline, often meting out physical punishment in order to instill social rules and toughen children up for life. But there were also increasing instances of loving concern when fathers helped their children “to learn swimming and biking,” which created an affective bond.13 With increasing maturity, many children began to admire their father’s professional achievements as well as their moral authority in times of crisis.

  Siblings, the first playmates from whom infants could learn or whom they could boss around, were also crucial influences on early childhood. In large families such as the Krapfs, who had five children, the order of birth determined the role within the group, the specialization of talents, and the assignment of household tasks. While single children were often lonely and spoiled, in bigger households there was much competition for attention from parents, but also considerable freedom, since the adults could not keep track of each infant.14 A boy’s older brother might serve as a role model to be emulated in scholastic success, sports attainment, and the like. If a girl had a little sister, she could mother, protect, and amuse her, learning those female skills that might help in later life.15 Although a large age gap or gender difference often estranged siblings, early childhood closeness created emotional bonds that lasted for a lifetime.

  If a mother was working or busy in society, a nanny would take her place. Named Anni, Emmi, or Kathi, these nurserymaids were usually poor girls from the countryside, sent into the city in order to stretch their parents’ budget and learn bourgeois manners. Even middle-class families could afford a girl to take care of feeding, washing, and supervising their small children, thereby relieving the mistress of routine tasks. Nurserymaids played with their charges, read stories to them, and took them for walks to playgrounds and parks. But, by talking about their privation, nannies also taught them what it was like to live in less-favored homes. Engineer Paul Frenzel recalled that “everything that a boy of six or seven years needs in love and education … I did not receive from my parents, but from a nurserymaid from Upper Bavaria.” Children were often more attached to their maids than to their distant mothers. Only a few children, such as Edith Schöffski or Ursula Mahlendorf, were sent to a Kindergarten.16

  When neither mothers nor nannies were available, networks of relatives and friends had to care for neglected infants, often replacing the parents in every respect. Not just a destination for summer vacations, grandparents were recruited as temporary or sometimes longer-range substitutes, especially if they lived in the countryside in their own houses with gardens. Single children such as Ruth Bulwin felt welcome and protected, because Oma and Opa spoiled them and patiently explained the rudiments of gardening, home repairs, and other tasks. Other favorites were unmarried aunts, like distant relative Didi who “took over” little Tom Angress, “telling me stories, singing me songs … and teaching me very early not to be a crybaby.” In rural or artisan families, children were expected to contribute by doing whatever chores they were capable of completing.17 Generally, there was a host of cousins and friends who could serve as an informal support structure in helping children to come to terms with the demands of the adult world.

  The formative environment was the family home, whose size and location depended upon the father’s earning power. Upper-class families like the Kleins could afford “a splendid apartment” in Berlin where there were numerous rooms for social representation and daily living. The ample space for a separate “children’s room” afforded their offspring “a well-cared for childhood as a son ‘from a good family.’”18 Other middle-class families owned their own abodes: “the cozy old house” of a fur dealer, the sprawling parsonage of a pastor, or the sturdy farmhouse of a Prussian peasant. Individual homes such as the Andrées’ forester’s house in the East provided a sense of security, allowing children both “care and protection” and “endless freedom” to explore the woods. Building one’s own house was therefore an aspiration of many Bürger, since one’s own four walls provided social recognition and shelter for the children.19

  In poorer families, the cramped abode was a constant source of irritation as lack of space pitted members against each other. Lower-middle-class households tended to live in apartment buildings, Wilhelmine monstrosities with medieval-style fronts, turrets, and balconies. But children could turn the dank interior courts into adventure spaces with their ingenious games. Proletarian families like the Härtels were condemned to miniscule apartments, often in the cellar, or to a single room in a garret, in which eating, sleeping, and plain living had to take place all at the same time. The lack of privacy in enforced closeness frayed people’s nerves. Children and adults had to share beds and use communal toilets in the stairwell. Moreover, everyone had to tiptoe when a tired father returned from his shift, while mothers often had to take in washing or mending to supplement a meager income. This was a tough environment for children who had to struggle to have their most elementary needs fulfilled.20

  Gardens were a refuge from city life, a source of supplemental food, and a place of wondrous discovery for the fortunate children who had access to them. While upper-class families often had the use of green space behind their impressive city apartments, middle-class homeowners tended to possess sufficient land for aesthetic and practical uses. Lower-middle-class and proletarian families like the Schöffskis therefore strove to rent a garden plot with a bower as a form of recreation and sociability. Daughter Edith later wrote, “This plot was the dream of my parents.” In these “allotment gardens,” people would grow a mixture of flowers, fruits, and vegetables, such as roses, strawberries, and potatoes. The children were able to play in the area as long as they did not damage crops or fruit trees such as cherries, apples, or pears, from which they could eat their fill. Especially during hard times such as war and depression, these gardens were an essential source of food.21

  Bringing together all members of the household, meals such as noonday dinner “were veritable fora of daily happenings and concerns.” After the family said grace, eating would begin, with father receiving the best cut of meat and mother sometimes sacrificing part of her own portion to make sure that her favorites would get enough. Children had to learn to behave, for “decent table manners [were] subject to special parental scrutiny,” with infractions often punished by a quick box on the ears. As long as they showed sufficient respect, the young were allowed to participate in adult conversation, which provided much “formative and invaluable substance.” While upper-class children such as Horst Grothus were sometimes fed so much that they gained too much weight, earning him the nickname “fatman,” many lower-class children went hungry, dreaming of what it would be like to eat “a banana or grapes.”22

  Whenever possible, children would play, showing much creativity in making up competitions and rules. These games could be as simple as hopscotch on the sidewalk or as elaborate as board games such as checkers. Boys preferred playing with technical toys such as “Märklin erector sets or wind-up trains” and tested their skill by spinning tops, flying kites, or shooting marbles. Girls were expected to play with dolls in elaborate houses. Erika Taubhorn recalled, “I liked to play mother and child alone. My seven large dolls were the children. I also really cooked on my small stove. In the closets hung clothes for dressing; the stool was the table. There was also a little bed and a stroller for dolls.” While girls recited poems, put on charades, and wrote in their albums, b
oys roughhoused by playing “cowboys and Indians” or kicking a soccer ball.23 Even if the number of toys was limited, these elaborate games showed a great capacity for creating happiness without much expense.

  The high points of the year were religious holidays such as Christmas, which evoked “the warmest feelings” even in secular families. The sense of anticipation began with an advent calendar with windows for each day, as well as with the construction of the advent wreath with four red candles to be lit on successive Sundays. On December 6, St. Nicholas arrived to determine whether “kids were good or kids were bad,” rewarding or punishing them accordingly. Excitement grew with the church service on Christmas Eve, often livened up by a nativity play with children as angels and shepherds. After dinner, the parlor door would finally be opened to display a dazzling spruce tree with colorful ornaments, tinsel, and burning candles. Only after singing “Silent Night” were the children allowed to open their presents—usually a mixture of wished-for items such as a new sled and practical things like woolen stockings, a “cap or gloves.”24 Christmas customs were so pervasive that even some Jewish families began to adopt them.

  Vacations were another favorite time, because they interrupted the daily routines by offering new experiences. Even poor children, such as Karl Härtel, could play in an allotment garden, learn to swim in a local river, or go hiking. The somewhat better-off children, such as Ruth Bulwin, were able to take the train from Berlin to the Thuringian Forest, visiting their grandparents and sampling life in the countryside with its healthy air, fresh food, and interesting farm animals. Even wealthier sons, such as Paul Frenzel, would actually go to the Baltic Sea and live in a fancy spa hotel, build elaborate sand castles, splash in the surf with friends, or hide from the wind in a wicker beach chair. Their mothers would show off their finery at tea-time and their fathers would join them on the weekend. Children of the elite, such as the Eycks, “often traveled as a family, frequently abroad, to the Netherlands or Switzerland” and so gained a cosmopolitan flair.25