Fifteen years in a childhood paradise

class-room situation, I had discipline problems. Günter seemed to adapt better than I. Also, I found it harder to make friends. Before I woke up to myself, I got into trouble. There was one particular boy in my class who was tiny compared to me, but wiry and very aggressive. He seemed to be picking on me.

One day I had enough. "If you pick on me again, I'll fight you," I said. I had hardly time to take a deep breath, when he was already at me, punching me with short, hard hits. Immediately the whole class was grouping around us, forming a kind of boxing ring, and encouraging us to fight. The blows were hard and hurt. I got angry, and with my longer arms I caught him in an arm tackle, gripping him tightly around his neck, and squeezing as hard as I could. We both fell on the floor, but I didn't let go. Eventually he managed to say: "Enough", and I let him go. It seems strange, but from that moment on we became friends. His name was Helmut Herke, and he was to come home with us quite often for the weekend, and in class we would sit together.

Towards the end of the school year of 1940, late May or early June, the two seniors of our Pension, one of them Tante Else's son, were sitting for their final exams. In some ways we all shared their tension, and we were pleased when all was over.

We also realised then, that both of them had to go straight from school to the army, to fight in the war.

"I won't be going to the war," I said, "by the time my age comes up, the war will be over."

"Don't be too sure about that," Tante Else's son replied. "I wish I could go, then I wouldn't have to go to school." "But that is stupid. Don't say a thing like that."

He put me to shame. And everyone was quiet around the table. In September 1940 the school system changed. Instead of doing another year at primary school, I was put with the rest of the class into form two of high school. This meant that we had to go to the Schiller High School, a much longer journey by tram than to the primary school. But all four Tieman's were now together at the same school.

At High School I started learning English as a foreign language. Unfortunately, my teacher and I did not see eye to eye. She was a big, fat woman, who made learning English a real chore, instead of fun. Her name was Frau Vogee. Right from the start I hit it off wrongly with her. I hated learning vocabularies, and she always sprung tests on us, and invariably I would earn a 'six' Ñ the bottom mark.

"Tieman," she would say, drawing out the first syllable twice as long as anybody else, "You will never learn English. Look at this paper here, full of red marks. You should be ashamed."

Ashamed I was not, only when I had to get the paper signed by Vater did I stand there with my head down.

"What is wrong with you? Why don't you want to learn English?"

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