June 4–11, 1994
Groß-Krössin today – and back then
For years I have cherished the wish to one day see again my holiday paradise, my mother’s homeland. At last the time has come—finally! Cousin Rudi Dorow organized the third bus trip to Groß-Krössin. My husband Willi is accompanying me. I am excited and full of anticipation.
What awaits me?
My thoughts wander back fifty years.
On August 11, 1944, my grandfather passed away. We—my mother, Ewald, little Angelika and I, even my brother—went to the funeral.
Hermann had been granted a few days’ leave. It was to be the last time I saw my brother. When we were taken by horse-drawn carriage to the Villnow station for our departure, Hermann was out in the field plowing with two horses. He came to the road, we said our farewells, and he disappeared with the horses behind a hill. A picture I have seen before my eyes countless times and will never forget!
He had longed to become an agriculturalist. After his Abitur he had enrolled at the Agricultural College in Stettin. Fate, however, decreed otherwise—quite otherwise.
We are staying at the “Polanin” Hotel in Bad Polzin, once a highly regarded spa town (mud baths, mineral springs) in the Belgard district. Today it is desolate and neglected.
My grandmother Anna Fritzke, née Mundt, was born here and moved to Berlin as a child. From here we take day trips.
Our first journey—how could it be otherwise—leads us to Groß-Krössin, now Krosino. We cross the bridge over the Persante (rebuilt some years ago), stop and get out. The bus drives on into the village, as far as the Sendelbach family’s place. How much the riverbed of the Persante has changed! It has become much narrower, its banks overgrown with tall shrubs. Again and again I look down from the bridge, and memories awaken. Once we used to swim here—a true summer delight.
We continue into the village. On the right lies the cemetery. The Polish people established it decades ago and have cared for it—according to their means—quite well.
And then I stand before the church.
It cannot be true!
This once so handsome half-timbered church with its bell tower. They simply plastered the masonry over in gray. The bell now hangs in a wooden frame standing beside the church. The sexton is just ringing it for Sunday Mass. Back then there were only Protestants, today it is entirely Catholic. Inside, the church is well kept and festively decorated. Just a week ago the children celebrated their First Holy Communion here. Large, beautiful lime trees stand before and behind the church. I take a few leaves to press.
Again my thoughts go back: July 6, 1934. Aunt Gertrud and Uncle Fritz marry. The long wedding procession, led by the musicians, makes its way through the village to the festively adorned church. Glorious summer weather! God always seemed to bless the weddings in Krössin, for at Aunt Erika and Uncle Gerhard’s wedding in the summer of 1936 the skies also smiled.
Willi and I now walk to the former farmstead of my grandparents Hermann and Anna Ehlert, née Hackbarth. The interpreter Watzek accompanies us. I already see the five linden trees, neatly trimmed into globes, in the front garden.
But where is the barn, the coach house, and the great sour cherry tree that once stood at the far end of the garden? A round table beneath the tree, surrounded by a bench, all enclosed by a hedge—was it privet or hawthorn? I no longer know. Such a cozy corner it was! In the front garden Grandmother had standard roses, their white blooms especially fragrant. Peonies, wallflowers, daisies, forget-me-nots, and mignonette bloomed to everyone’s delight—a true splendor! Along the south side of the coach house a vine once climbed.
Where are the double doors and the broad steps before them?
At weddings, the musicians sat there and played as the guests arrived. I see Uncle Otto and Aunt Martha walking up the village street, the music plays, Uncle Otto pays his offering, and then the celebration begins—and what celebrations they were!
Behind those double doors (their top halves of glass) lay the hall. Here stood a handsome old wardrobe; at the far end, a little table with a gramophone crowned by its great pale-green horn. On special days, sometimes even Sundays, the loveliest music filled the house. Aunt Gertrud told me she always turned up the gramophone loudly whenever a wedding procession passed by.
From the hall, to the right, one entered the “good room.” It was used only on festive occasions, and here stood the Christmas tree. We seldom spent Christmas in Groß-Krössin, for Hinterpommern was colder even than Berlin. Not rarely the windows were patterned with frost-flowers of the most beautiful shapes. In the adjoining living room, though, the tiled stove (with its warm bench) soon melted them away. How delicious the baked apples from the oven tasted!
Now I am once again in the hall. To the left was Uncle Albert’s room with its two tall windows, where white and red primroses always stood, filling the air with fragrance. From time to time a bee would stray inside. That too was “my summer.”
We walk around to the yard. The main entranceway is gone. One of the great linden trees still stands, but the other, along with the water trough and pump where the cows once drank morning and evening, are no more. Only half the outbuildings remain—the washroom, feed kitchen, and pigsty. The cowshed and poultry house with dovecote are gone. The large orchard and vegetable garden where we children loved to linger is overgrown. The outdoor oven I seek in vain—how fragrant the bread had been! Grandmother would bake five to eight loaves at once, and afterward a great pan of streusel cake.
At the door the present owner greets us. The villagers had heard that the former Groß-Krössiners were coming today. The Polish woman Maria lives here with her son, daughter-in-law, and two grandchildren. She had just been released yesterday from the hospital in Neustettin, still weak, yet determined to welcome us.
We enter the house. To the left the kitchen door has been bricked up. I remember a long room with a large table, a bench along the wall, a kitchen cupboard, and a great stove. On a small cabinet stood a centrifuge. Grandmother’s butter was heavenly—and the buttermilk, with little flakes of butter floating on top. What would my cholesterol levels say to that today? From here one entered the living room with two tall windows and, between them, a chest of drawers with the telephone—No. 37. Yes, Grandmother always kept up with the times! When it came to sensible new purchases, the Ehlerts were always ahead.
The Poles have now set up a preschool in this part of the house. Maria and her granddaughter lead us upstairs to their room, while Watzek interprets diligently. She is delighted with the letter Aunt Gertrud sent along, for Aunt Gertrud has already visited twice. We too brought some gifts. Maria receives only 120 zloty in pension and must pay for most of her medicines herself. Dental prostheses are granted only when 75% of one’s teeth are gone!
In winter she cannot stay here—it is too cold—so she stays with the other children. Repairs are nearly impossible, new purchases out of reach. The young family downstairs, though, proudly shows off the new interior shutters they had saved long for. The man is a bus driver, the wife a kindergarten teacher, now unemployed. Their son attends a boarding gymnasium in Neustettin; daughter Anja still goes to school in Groß-Krössin. They keep a small garden, the yard is tidy, chickens and bantams wander about.
Yes, there were many chickens once, scratching and cackling on the great manure heap. The proud rooster ruled his harem. How I loved feeding the chicks: “Schiep, schiep, schiep!” For that my brother called me “Schiepchen.” Ducks and geese, too, big and small, bustled about. Life teemed there! To the right stood the big barn and the coach house where the hens laid their eggs. Grandmother seldom let anyone else collect them.
Before the barn stood the horse-mill, driven by two horses circling round to power the thresher. The grain, once threshed, was taken to the village mill. Harvest hands gladly came to the Ehlerts—good pay and good food! I see them all again sitting in a circle on the stubble field, the women with their headscarves against the sun, Grandmother in the middle laying out the “second breakfast.” At noon they came home for dinner. How often we children played ball against the barn wall, or played hide-and-seek—the best of games with so many fine hiding places! Hermann, Lieselotte, sometimes the cousins from Stettin—Anneliese, Werner, Walter—joined in. Those two boys were real rascals! Grandmother often scolded them (us, less so!). Aunt Gertrud told me Walter once wrung a duck’s neck at the Jandt’s. Aunt Anna, their mother, had her hands full with those wild ones.
At the barn’s far end was a little stall. Here lived Aunt Hannchen, the tenant, with her two goats. She liked to play cards—not with me! Behind the stall stood two privies, still standing in the same place, lonely and abandoned. Beyond them the meadow and brook that marked the border between the Ehlerts and the Wetzels—now almost overgrown. How happily we played there! So many fond memories return.
We walk into the village, past the Dorow house. Here lived Uncle Robert, Aunt Frieda, with Lieselotte and Rudi. They kept an inn and general store. You could buy anything there. Many smells mingled: herrings in barrels, beet syrup, wooden clogs, buckets, and much more. And the sweets! Loose candies—plump raspberries, large golden ones filled with chocolate, and the tart red and green gooseberries—I can taste them still. I loved coming here. We played or took the garden path to school. Sometimes I even joined the lessons.
We stop briefly at the Jandt’s (the outlying farm). We are warmly welcomed. The Polish woman gives me Trude’s old autograph album, offers coffee, but the bus is waiting. Ah yes, I spent unforgettable hours here with Trude and Irmgard. The path led across fields and meadows, birches lining the way. Sometimes we rode bicycles. Today it is a paved country road. I remember the old house, the kitchen table beneath the kerosene lamp, Aunt Martha serving delicious klieben soup. Uncle Otto, quiet but full of wit, kept us laughing without end! I think he also played the harmonica. Beside the house, behind the oven, spruces and a great rowan tree grew. We made long chains from its berries. The nearby woods drew us often. At night, the three of us in bed could never settle—singing and chattering until late. Those were the days!
I wish to see the house where Aunt Erika, Uncle Gerhard, and Winfried once lived. I am pleasantly surprised. The house is well preserved, though the porch and vineyard to the left are gone. Seven families live here now. It had once been a stately residence. Frau Maass, Aunt Erika’s mother-in-law, was always kind and hospitable. Until recently a pig farm was kept here. We walk through the once-beautiful park, now bleak and overgrown. The fish pond is no more, only a stagnant pool. At the gate we find it locked and have to squeeze through a hole in the fence.
We drive on to Villnow station. Little has changed. Even Dorow’s weighing scale is still there. Inside the station the smell is just as it was! From Berlin’s Stettiner Bahnhof we took the train to Belgard, changed there for Neustettin, and alighted at Villnow—our destination, with Groß-Krössin 4–5 km beyond. Uncle Albert or Uncle Hermann fetched us by carriage, later by car.
A sweet memory comes to me: Once again in Groß-Krössin, my mother has brought gifts for everyone. She hands my brother (about three and a half years old) a box of cigars and says, “Take these to Grandfather.” He goes to Grandmother and says: “These are for your husband.” My mother often laughed about that—and so did we. He was such a dear boy, whom I loved above all. Much later he once said to me: “Schiepchen, I tattled on you more than once. Forgive me! When I’m grown and you are small, you can get even.”
Aunt Gertrud, Aunt Erika, and Aunt Erna always spoiled us, as did Uncle Albert and Uncle Hermann. We gladly polished their shoes; they were generous with tips and candies. Uncle Hermann, a dashing soldier—a twelve-year man, as one said then—visited us often in Berlin, especially after my father’s sudden death (December 10, 1932). I believe he tried then to take Father’s place. A hard task, but in some ways he succeeded. Thank you! Even later I felt the same.
We also visit Belgard, where Aunt Grete and Uncle Albert (on my mother’s side) ran a bakery. Their streets were destroyed in the war. They lived there with their children Herbert, Erika, Reni, and Sigi. I still recall the smell of fresh bread and pastries—the delicious cinnamon rolls! Their courtyard was a quiet oasis full of flowers and vines.
We drive on to Köslin. Much has changed—I no longer recognize it. I once spent some months here with Aunt Leni, Uncle Hermann, and little cousin Melanie, later with little Angelika too. A wonderful time!
In Kolberg we spend several hours. Once such a famous seaside resort, 80% destroyed during World War II, it has been partly rebuilt. I too have happy memories here. When my mother, Hermann, and I stayed in Krössin for about two weeks, my father would come for two or three days. Aunt Gertrud recently told me that during those visits Father devoted himself entirely to Hermann and me, playing with us. He had always been a very good father. How joyful to hear that confirmed again!
We once spent two weeks in Kolberg.
There I first discovered and fell in love with the Baltic Sea. Later came Heringsdorf and Ahlbeck, then Zoppot, Danzig, and the Curonian Spit.
My grandmother and her daughters were excellent cooks. I think of lemon cream, buttermilk dishes, buttermilk potatoes, Schwarz-sauer, roast goose, smoked goose breast, goose fat… Slaughtering was, of course, not rare!
I remember Grandfather as a quiet, hardworking man, fond of his pipe and cigars. At the Ehlerts’, card games were frequent, especially in winter. The daughters also spun at their wheels and had a loom as well.
Festivals were celebrated with gusto—Schützenfest (traditional marksmen’s festival), Harvest Festival, and Fire Brigade Festival. I see Uncle Albert on horseback, the steed decked with ribbons, Uncle Albert dressed in white—so smart! In the evening the ball was held in Sendelbach’s hall. I was allowed to join for an hour or two.
Rudi also led us on a hike around Lake Sapping, through Schleusenwald to the forester’s house. In those woods we once gathered chanterelles, blueberries, lingonberries, even Iceland moss. The countryside around Groß-Krössin is beautiful—vast stretches of untouched nature! At times it seemed as though time itself had stood still: dreamy lakes, one after another, great rough-barked birches along the roadsides, gorse, stock gillyflowers, cotton grass, cornflowers, chamomile… poppies. Time and again I delight in the avenues of trees arching overhead. We see many storks, foxes, deer, pheasants… cranes. Much land lies fallow, with only here and there a potato or grain field. On one field a man plows with a single horse.
Yes, the people here are poor, very poor. Today’s West Pomerania is the poorest region of Poland.
Groß-Krössin in 1994—you look so sorrowful. Half a century has left its mark upon you.
I shall remember my beloved Groß-Krössin with some wistfulness, but above all with joy.
My thanks go to Rudi and Anneliese Dorow, who organized this remarkable journey so well.
And my heartfelt thanks also to my Angelika, the initiator of this “work.” At first I resisted, but now I am glad to have carried it through. I hope that my children and grandchildren will read with interest this account of my memories and experiences from June 1994 in Pomerania—perhaps even feel them for themselves.
That’s it!
October 1994
Charlotte Kraft née Ehlert