Under Napoleon, Hövelhof became part of the Kingdom of Westphalia, with Kassel as its capital.
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Der Code Napoléon pour le Royaume de Westphalie |
I lived in Hövelhof from July 1944 to the fall of 1945 and went to elementary school there.
Before that, our family was in the Sudetenland, but as the Russian front drew closer in the east, my father thought it would be better if we lived further west.
He knew someone in Westphalia, Karl Epping, the uncrowned king of Hövelhof. Epping owned a meat processing plant and a sausage factory in the village. In 1944, he started with the help of Russian prisoners of war, building accommodations for evacuees and bombed-out people far outside the village center. Today, the settlement that still exists is called Eppinghof.
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Did my father buy the Westfälisches Volksblatt? (Click to enlarge) |
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We lived on the upper floor of the second house from the right. My mother, wearing a white apron, looks out the kitchen/living room window. |
My father soon had to say goodbye. As a specialized engineer, he had to return to the distant Sudetenland to ensure the functionality of the X-ray facilities, which were frequently damaged by war.
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Little Manfred, my mother, and my brother are standing at the entrance door. |
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A row of finished Behelfsheime (temporary accommodations) |
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The secret of reconciliation is called memory. |
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Forced laborers and prisoners of war in the Third Reich (©Körber Stiftung) |
A Russian Proverb states, "If you forget the war, then a new war arises."
How true.
My reception as a nine-year-old on the grounds of
the village school was one of curiosity and reluctance. Although I had the
right prayer book, my classmates made me feel that, as a settlement
resident, I did not belong to the village establishment. Today, this would
be referred to as mobbing.
The first lesson of the morning was always devoted to religious education, as Hövelhof belongs to the Archdiocese of Paderborn. In German, the comparative and superlative forms of the adjective "black" are jokingly referred to as Münster and Paderborn, where the color black stands for Catholicism.
It was taken for granted that pupils attended the Holy Mass at 7 AM before classes started at 8 AM. My walk from the settlement to the village school and the church next to it was over half an hour, so my mother had dispensed me from attending early mass.
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The type of classroom I remember well (©Schulmuseum Riege near Hövelhof) |
In the village school, we were educated in strictly segregated classes by sex.
This practice was still in effect according to the Prussian School Regulations
of 1872.
Corporal punishment with cane strokes on hands or buttocks
was common.
The teaching program of my year was so simple that I was more interested in the lessons for the older years. In religious education, I was the best anyway because I owned a children's Bible and had read it at least three times in the absence of other books, which I had to leave behind in the Sudetenland.
In the fall of 1944, I transferred to the "upper" section of the village school.
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My blond-haired brother is in the foreground. |
And then they came. Silver air fleets of the Americans flew over Hövelhof at a great height. The planes hummed, glittered in the sun, and dropped strips of metal foil to interfere with German Radar. These strips we children collected as Lametta for future Christmas tree decorations.
Once, we children experienced a high-up dogfight. Suddenly, plane parts fell from the sky. We took refuge in a nearby copse, held our breaths, and prayed many "Our Father."
The Western front was approaching, noticeable by the increased appearance of
low-flying fighter planes. One day, we children were shot at by a board gun
but were not hit because we were playing in the shade of a house. I still
remember looking downstream at how the sand was stirred up by the impact of
the shells.
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The house that protected us. Red Baron is sitting on the right, directing the crowd. |
Without schooling during the first weeks of the occupation, we settlement
children spent part of our time in the village among the GIs. Here, I had
my first contact with the English language.
Soon, the British took command in Westphalia. Suddenly, as a nearly
ten-year-old, I was accused of stealing cigarettes from the English officers'
mess. I was in tears. My mother intervened, and the village chaplain took me
to the task. Of course, there was nothing; a classmate had falsely accused me.
The war was over, my father had eventually made his way from Sudetenland to Hövelhof, and we, in our best clothes, had a photo taken on the edge of the forest in the summer of 1945. Although living in poor conditions, our family was overjoyed to have survived the war unharmed.
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Here are the brothers with a friend and a better view of the houses of the Eppinghof |
The atmosphere between the villagers and the settlement's inhabitants deteriorated. I recall vividly that one Sunday, this same chaplain announced from the pulpit, "Those of you who put your feet under our tables," creating a tense atmosphere. Nothing happened because the settlement was too remote, far from the village.
In the fall of 1945, my father took me to Hamburg, where I attended secondary school while my mother and brother remained in Hövelhof. I slept in my father's office until he found appropriate housing for the whole family. But that is a different story.
I am incredibly grateful to my parents for caring well for us children
during those precarious times.
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