Fancy How Time Flies - my little Girl turns 50 today!

My gorgeous Girl

It was back in the dark dim ages of scant television (live concert transmission on a tiny 12 inch black&white screen) on a bleak December day - Dec the 14th to be exact - that in mid-evening the girl's mother decided, after the regulation gestation period, to go into labour.
In those days telephones were something only politicians and rich people had. I hot-footed it down to the nearest phone box and rang the hospital. Being twenty years old at the time I didn't have much of clue what was going on, but the duty nurse 'grilled' me sufficiently to instruct me to bring the girl into the hospital.
It was a miserable dark, cold and wet evening. Being young and fearless I walked the girl to the hospital, almost 1 kilometre away. They checked her out and said: "Yep, she's in labour. Go home and ring about seven in the morning to see if anything has happened."
None of this present day 'nonesense' of husbands staying with their wives to go through all the labour pain and gore that follows. One just went home, had a stiff drink, set the alarm and got up the next morning to make the trek to the phone box to find out if there had been any positive results of the 'arduous!' fertilising task.

Telegram to Tante Gisela about the birth

Low and behold there had been! I was informed that a baby girl had been born at Frederiksberg Hospital at 02.25 AM, weighing 3,250 grams and being 52 cm long. Not a bad effort for an overnight journey on a sleeper train.

15 Dec 1963 Frederiksberg Hospital

I was told I could visit after 8 AM to see mother and child. All very well, mother was doing fine and baby was in the nursery section. I was only allowed to view her through the glass window - no touching or contact, just in case I'd pass on some germs or other horrible diseases. - we only bathed or showered once a week in them days. When I saw 'My Little Girl' for the first time I got a tremendous shock!
She had this large purple lump on her head. I raced in to see her mum and enquire as to what had happened. I was informed that Dorit was an ostropoulus little witch that would not eject from the womb! Thus they had to use a suction cup, just like what the plumber uses to clear the drains, to extract her! 

Let's back-track a bit to reflect on how the 'fertilising' happened. Her mum and I, then my girlfriend, were living in Bad Godesberg near Bonn (then the capital of West Germany), at the beginning of 1963. We decided to go back to her mum's birthplace for various reasons. We booked a 'Wagon Lits' compartment for the overnight journey from Cologne to Copenhagen. Being the fancy-free 60's we got a double berth compartment (bunk berth) - goodness knows why. Being young and amorous we only needed one berth. And that is where Dorit was conceived! Must have been the gaps in the rail lines that added that extra BUMP to make it all happen.
After we got to Denmark my then girlfriend informed me, a couple of months later, that she was pregnant. So, what does an honourable young gentleman do? He told her 'we're getting married'!

Omi teaching Dorit manners

Dorit's Godparents - Fritz & Birgit

My mum was not amused about the whole caper and stopped communicating with me for a while, hence the Telegram to my sister - Tante Gisela. However, once the little critter with head damage was born my mother, know to everybody in our families as Omi, relented and travelled to Copenhagen for the Christening. What a blessing that was! Omi took one look at our living arrangements, a two-room flat with a small kitchen and no bathroom shared with my in-laws, and declared: "you can't subject the baby to that!" Being a foreigner I was not entitled to a state housing flat or house. Omi advanced us some monies to put a deposit on an 'own your own' apartment. It was on the third floor, no lift, had a large living room, small bedroom, tiny baby's room and small kitchen. Still no bathroom BUT at least an inside toilet - very smick. That is where we resided and Dorit spent her early formative years till she turned four. By then I had decided that Denmark was not for us (i.e. me) and made applications and arrangements to migrate to Australia. 

In the meantime life proceeded and Dorit grew up - to the extend that she became a very early long-distance communicator, which most likely explains her 'addiction' to the I-Phone these days. Look at her here - making calls to her .... who knows what!
She also developed a very early taste for adventure and foreign lands, having travelled from the time she was barely a year old, at that stage only to Germany and Sweden. A bit later she expanded her horizons and ventured to Italy before coming to Australia.

Tillykke med Foedselsdagen min lille pige

How I became Poppo Mike

This post was written by my guest writer, variously known as the 'war office' - 'she who must be obeyed' - 'her indoors' - but most importantly the LOVE of my LIFE. Here we go:

Why My Mike’s Blog is called Poppo Mike.

1990, Mike suggests a Sunday drive to York. York being a lovely country town, there wasn’t that much open.

I said to him, I have friends that don’t live too far from here in Popanyinning (only just over 100 km’s away), Gill and Ted, who’d been friends since my young teenage years.

Eureka - I found IT !!

So to Poppo we go, at that time Gill and Ted were living on the main street, They also had 45 acres, or as Ted always called it “His estate”. Just over the railway line. They had recently put a house on and wanted to know if we would like to see it. They were in the process of doing it up ready to live in. Mike quick as a whip said “yep”. Back then I was such a city person, always wearing high heels and tight skirts. I went along. We saw the house, then Ted said would you like to walk the block. Mike full of enthusiasm, me “NO” there might be some snakes out there. This was one of Teds favourite stories until he passed away.

Anyway, in the car on the way home, Mike says to me, “I could live there” Me, “I couldn’t”. What would it take for you to live there, asks Mike. Me being funny “A Bath”

We went back in 1994, after we were married, and took Grandchild Venus with us. She just loved running around. Ted told Mike there is a 5 acre block for sale, so went to see it. Venus loved it, however all the time yelling “But NO geese nanny”. That block was not to be.

19995, Mike has sold the yacht Delinquent, he is more than determined now, as he put it: “you either

Will it measure up to specs? Hope so!

live by the sea or in the country”

Another visit to Gill and Ted. We stayed at the Pingelly road house & motel in room 12. Had dinner that Saturday night with Gill and Ted and talked about properties we had seen. None appealed to me. We agreed to see each other the next morning, at their house on ‘the estate’.

Ted was very excited, “I’ve seen a block” 2 and half acres, quiet street, you want to come and have a look?. Of course says Mike. Had to climb fences since there was no gate then. It was just covered in clover and looked beautiful. Mike loved it, and Yes so did I. Ted had all the details of the seller.

Driving back to the city, big discussions, Yes or No. By the time we got home it was a YES.

Phoned to tell Gill and Ted we are buying the block, done deal! Ted was very happy, however, and I still remember this, Gill says to Ted: “What have you done?” “What?” he replied. Gill: “What about Kay!“ Ted’s laconic reply was: “she’ll get used to it.”

Next task was to find a house.

To be continued.

Beating the Stasi

This is a tale of conceit, diversion and sheer cunning - all played out in the good old days of the Cold War, with all it's trepidations and 'excitement'.

Your friendly next door Gestapo Man

Stasi Emblem - says it all - doesn't it?!

The Stasi was (is) a relatively well known internal/external spy organisation of the German Democratic Republic (East Germany) - very democratic if you have to spy on your own citizens to keep them subdued and in line. For those of you wanting to know more about this outfit, you can find a fairly comprehensive synopsis by following this link: Stasi on Wikipedia
The Stasi succeeded in perfecting some of the imperfections of the Gestapo and, in my considered opinion, was aided, abetted and egged on by surviving former Gestapo members who saw and grabbed an opportunity to continue their career in this field. Surveillance, record keeping, intimidation and coercion were all part of the repertoire.
The Stasi was penetrative, omnipresent and feared by all throughout the existence of the East German regime - who's stated aim was to create a "Workers Paradise" - as long as your definition of paradise concurred with theirs and you kept your mouth shut, you were fairly right.
Here are a few short stories about how things worked and how one could avoid the scrutiny/harassment of the Stasi!

The first one is about the my Cousin Christel's husband Werner. He was a detective in the CID (Criminal Investigation Division) of the East Berlin Police Force. Werner was  the one who alerted Mum about the impending closing in of the Stasi because of Mum's assistance with Gisela's girlfriend's defection to the West - for details see my earlier blog: Becoming a Refugee
Werner was a lovable bloke with a heart of gold. He was also very 'street-smart' in that he had worked out how to keep away from the Stasi. Having returned from the war he joined the police force. A rather smart move in terms of job security and career prospects.
Werner worked out fairly early on in the piece that things were taking a turn for the worse and that old style Nazi time surveillance was back on the agenda. He worked his butt off to make it into the CID and did his very best to be an outstanding detective. His reasoning was that being in a small elite force he would be able to avoid party membership, close scrutiny from the Stasi and other harassment. He was right! As long as he excelled at his job the powers that be left him alone - they needed good detectives to clear up crimes pronto! See, even in the 'Workers Paradise' crims kept plying their trade - rape, pillage and murder occurred as they always had. Maybe not to the same extend, because penalties were rather swift and harsh - long jail sentences with hard labour or death penalties executed swiftly, were the order of the day.
By being part of that small, elite division of East Berlin's police force Werner had not only access to all sorts of records, he was also sheltered from any pressure to join the party or become an informer.

'Paul's' TV Tower

The second story is about my brother in law Paul, another 'street-smart' gentleman who worked out that one had to be outside the system, so to speak, to avoid scrutiny, yet be part enough of the system to reap some benefits.
Paul, having fled the former German province of Silesia with his parents in the dying days of the war, took up a bricklayer's apprenticeship, which he completed in eighteen months. He then proceeded to buy a vacant, disputed block of land and build his own house on it. Materials were hard to come by, but he found ingenious ways of getting what he needed bit by bit - mainly trading his skills for goods.
Paul joined the East Berlin building monopoly (a state owned amalgamation of building companies) and enrolled in evening courses to become an engineer. He ended up working his way up to chief surveying engineer in East Berlin. One of his greatest achievements was to be the surveying engineer for the construction of the Television Power at Alexander Platz - a showpiece of East German prowess and determination.
Having 'manoeuvered' himself into this position he was fairly immune to the shenanigans of the Stasi - the powers that be needed his talents and cunningness - he'd become an 'untouchable'. Paul could get things done, even when materials were seemingly in short supply, and could recruit/select the right workers to ensure construction was up to standard and completed in the time allocated - a rather remarkable achievement in them days when nothing ever seemed to happen on time.
Both the Commies and the Stasi knew when they had something good in their hands and did everything to protect that asset without going overboard. Paul was, by and large, left alone politically, but he still had to wait the regulation ten (10) years to get his cherished Wartburg car - there was no way around - almost. He could get a new bath tub or toilet bowl when none were available, but a car - no way Jose!

Is there anything more adorable?

So, Paul being Paul, he waited patiently till he received his notification that his car might be forthcoming in the next twelve months. His elation was only tempered by his realisation that he could do little about the process. Thus, he thought he better do something about it - because twelve months is an eternity when you have been waiting ten years AND the notification also stated that the colour of the car was at that stage unknown, but most likely dark red or brown! Paul took some time off work, actually he pretended he had some official engagements somewhere else in Berlin, and waltzed into the office of car distribution to have a 'quiet word' to the ladies administering car distribution. Being a perennial charmer he soon had the ladies in the palm of his hand and found out that on the next delivery, due in seven days, there was a white Wartburg that the allocated owner didn't want to have a bar off or couldn't pay for. Quick as a flash Paul said: "I'll take it! How much do I have to put down to secure it?"
See, in them days in East Germany there was no such thing as Credit, Finance or Term Payments - Leasing wasn't even in the vocabulary. You paid for the goods as you picked them up or earlier. The ladies told him it was all or nothing, he would have to pay the entire amount of East German Marks 21,000.00 virtually then and there. Well, our Paul being not only handsome but also resourceful, told the ladies to hold the car for him, he'd be back in a jiffy. He hotfooted it to the bank, got a bank cheque for the amount required and was back within the hour - THE CAR WAS HIS!
How could he afford it? Between my sister Gisela and him they were pulling in the phenomenal salary of East German Marks 2,500 per month! Having saved for ten years, and not having much else to spend their money on (basic staples were dirt cheap and little else was available) they had saved that amount easily.

But, on with the story. Gisela, my sister, tormentor and whatever else - see Instant Teacher - travelled a road not dissimilar from Paul's. She discovered early on that keeping out of the clutches of the Stasi would be the best thing to do. After doing general teaching duties in primary schools Gisela discovered that political pressures kept increasing every year. 'Sniffing' around a bit she found that there was a school for children with learning difficulties in Koenigs Wusterhausen. Researching through the back door so to speak, these days we call it networking and leaning on colleagues, she go the gist as to what was required to become a teacher there - not much at all, in fact, as they were desperately short of staff and most people found it daunting, to say the least, to put up with these kids. Unruly, undisciplined, slow learners, difficult home environments - you name, it was all there. Gisela figured that this was an institution that the state had to tolerate, whether they liked or not. Anybody working there was blessed with relative freedom, mainly in the form of none-interference from the 'thought police'. She applied and, of course, got the job straight away.
This set her on her course, not only to good pay, but impunity as well.
Years later she found that, with a bit more further education, she could work her way into a more 'elite' school that was even safer in terms of the Stasi wanting informers and what have you.
Gisela applied for a study place, part time, at the famous Humboldt University to study applied child psychology. Took her four years of hard slog, but she got there - got her degree and therewith her ticket to apply for a position at the school for the blind in Koenigs Wusterhausen.

The Heritage listed School for the Blind

This school was quite unique in the GDR - one of only two such institutions for the entire country, but the only one offering university entry level tutoring and examinations. It was part boarding school and part day school. It attracted visiting educators from countries such as Sweden, Finland, Georgia, Turkey, plus numerous African and South American countries. International relations were much sought after by the GDR powers - if they had to get them through these rather burdensome institutions, so be it. With it came the relative freedom that Gisela craved. The Stasi left her alone and the government provided funding they would otherwise have denied - a showpiece is a showpiece. One has to spend money to keep it up to scratch to attract these international visitors.
Gisela advanced to the top post in the school: School Director for this unique establishment. She achieved that without having to join the party or being coerced into the role of informant for the Stasi - quite remarkable, really.
Remarkable people all three of them - but for me, I want to pay special tribute to my sister, teacher, tormentor - most of all my BIG sister - much admired, loved and sorely missed.