Note: In this post I describe how with the assistance of one of my Blog’s readers, I was able to determine when and where my first cousin twice-removed Maria Pohlmann née Pauly died. The place and time of her death was not as I imagined, and I offer a possible explanation as to how I miscalculated Maria’s fate.
Regular readers know I’m a retired archaeologist. I’ve previously told followers the enormous pleasure I derive from doing forensic genealogy as it draws upon the same skills I learned and applied in doing field archaeology. In a sense, I’m now digging through archives, documents and on-line databases whereas before I was digging through layers of dirt. It’s humbling when my scientific approach to doing ancestral research fails to yield a satisfactory result. Thus, it was a welcome relief when a German reader of my Blog offered his assistance in helping me determine what fate may have befallen my first cousin twice-removed, Maria Pohlmann née Pauly. (Figure 1) I viewed this offer for help not as a failure on my part, but rather as an opportunity to have a fresh set of eyes re-examine the same evidence I’d looked at.
Let me briefly review what I discussed in Post 57. Maria Pauly (Figure 2), born on the 21st of July in 1877, and her husband Alexander “Axel” Pohlmann (Figure 3) got married in Posen, Germany [today: Poznan, Poland] on the 1st of October 1901. (Figure 4) Maria’s grandnephew and my third cousin, Andi Pauly (Figure 5), who was the source of her and Axel’s wedding picture and has been the source of most images I have of his Pauly ancestors, was unable to tell me what might have happened to her; she was one of only two of Josef and Rosalie Pauly’s nine children whose fate he did not know. Doing a little research on German Wikipedia, I discovered Maria’s husband had been a very prominent figure, having been the Oberbürgermeister, the Lord Mayor of Kattowitz, Prussia [today: Katowice, Poland] between 1903 and 1920. Following his tenure as Lord Mayor of Kattowitz, until his retirement in 1930, Pohlmann was the Regierungspräsident des Regierungsbezirks Magdeburg, the President of the Government of Magdeburg in the German state of Saxony. Pohlmann passed away in 1952 in Freiburg im Breisgau (German state of Baden-Württemberg).
Given Alexander Pohlmann’s public standing, I was surprised I could learn nothing of his wife’s fate. Aware that Maria was deemed Jewish in the eyes of the Nazis and knowing some of her siblings, their husbands, and their children had been murdered in the Holocaust, naturally, I checked the Yad Vashem Victim’s Database, to no avail to my relief. Following publication of Post 57, I continued my investigations hoping to learn more about Alexander and Maria Pohlmann.
I decided to write to places in Poland, formerly Prussia, and Germany with which Alexander Pohlmann had been associated. First, I contacted the Muzeum Historii Katowic (Museum of History of Katowice, Poland), and received a very gracious reply informing me they had no information on what might have happened to Maria Pohlmann. Next I contacted the Generalagentur für Genealogie (General Agency for Genealogy) in Magdeburg, Germany, and again was told they had no information on Maria. Finally, my Polish friend Paul Newerla, the Silesian historian, suggested I contact the Archiwum Państwowe w Katowicach (State Archives in Katowice, Poland); it took more than a month to hear back from them, but their reply was also in the negative.
Before I could contemplate my next step, Peter Hanke, a German gentleman affiliated with the “forum.danzig.de,” contacted me offering his assistance in helping me find out what might have happened to Maria Pohlmann after reading Post 57. This Forum is a discussion group I stumbled upon in the course of researching Tiegenhof, the town in the Free State of Danzig where my father was a dentist for five years between 1932 and 1937; as discussed in earlier Blog posts related to Tiegenhof, Peter has been inordinately helpful in helping me track down information related to some of my father’s friends and acquaintances from his halcyon days there, and directing me to various on-line databases with information on the town’s former residents.
Given my lack of success finding out about Maria, I was more than happy to accept Peter’s offer of help, knowing that while I might eventually get to the same place without his assistance, his involvement would speed up the process. And, speed it up, it most certainly did. Peter contacted me on the August 26th of this year, and by September 7th he’d received a packet of information from the Kulturamt Stadtarchiv (Cultural Office City Archive), to whom he’d written, in Freiburg im Breisgau, the town in Baden-Württemberg, Germany where Alexander Pohlmann died in 1952.
In the packet of documents, the City Archive included Alexander Pohlmann’s death certificate (Figure 6a-b), confirming he’d died on the 5th of October 1952, as German Wikipedia had indicated. But, of more immediate interest was the inclusion of Maria Pohmann’s death certificate (Figures 7a-b) indicating she too had died in Freiburg, on the 18th of July 1946, pre-deceasing her husband by more than six years; Maria died of diabetes and heart failure. According to the Freiburg City Archive, Alexander and Maria had lived in Freiburg since at least the 1st of October 1936, and they had no offspring. After having hit several dead ends looking for Maria Pohlmann, it was very satisfying to finally determine when and where she died, and particularly gratifying to have one reader of my Blog help me work this out.
While I would eventually have written to Freiburg asking whether Maria Pohlmann had died there, to be honest, I’d convinced myself her anonymity was a function of dying young, like some of her older sisters had. In retrospect, the fact that she was Jewish may also have played a role in keeping a low profile, although we know from her father Josef Pauly’s memoirs, discussed in Post 56, that several of his daughters had to forego their personal ambitions for the sake of Josef’s only son. For this reason, it’s possible Maria sadly never had the opportunity to become more than a traditional housewife and was “unknown” outside her circle of family and friends.
The past few months have been extraordinarily productive ones in terms of either solving or beginning to unravel the fate of several of my distant relatives. Partially, this is attributable to my own dogged efforts but equally this is the result of contributions by what I’ve referred to as “my boots on the ground.” This may be analogous to good detective work which typically involves a team of people working together to solve knotty, intractable cases. In upcoming posts, I will detail some of these other successes.
Note: In this post, I tell readers a little more about a signet ring given to my father, Dr. Otto Bruck, by his landlady in 1937 upon his departure from Tiegenhof, where he had his dental practice in the Free State of Danzig. The post is based on information provided by one of the co-authors of a book on the history of Tiegenhof, Mr. Grzegorz Gola.
I apologize to readers at the very outset, as this Blog post is likely to be of interest to few of you and is more a reflection of my obsession with accuracy, recognizing I’m not an expert on many subjects I write about. When people with expertise on the matters I discuss enhance my understanding of these topics, I’m delighted.
From Blog Post 3, regular readers may recall the extraordinary lengths to which I went to learn the identity of a woman my father only ever referred to when I was growing up as “Die Schlummermutter,” translated roughly as “landlady.” With much letter-writing and the help of a gentleman from the Danzig Forum, I eventually learned Die Schlummermutter was named Frau Margaretha “Grete” Wilhelmine Gramatzki née Gleixner. She was born in Tiegenhof on June 13, 1885 and died there on February 24, 1942.
Figure 1. My father and “Die Schlummermutter” (Grete Gramatzki) in Tiegenhof in Spring 1933, with sisters Suse Epp (left) and Idschi EppFigure 2. Die Schlummermutter, or as she was locally known “dicke Grete” (fat Grete)My father spoke of Grete Gramatzki with great affection, and the surviving pictures of the two of them together attest to this friendship. (Figure 1) She was an enormous woman, weighing more than 400 pounds, and someone I picture to be of outsize personality. (Figure 2) Given the close bond between “dicke Grete” (“fat Grete”), as she was known to locals, and my father, it comes as no surprise that upon my father’s departure from Tiegenhof, some months after Grete’s birthday in June 1937 (Figure 3), she gave him a parting gift. That souvenir was a signet ring (Figure 4) that had belonged to her husband, who I came to learn was Hans Erich Gramatzki. He was born on August 10, 1879 and died at an unknown date. My father arrived in Tiegenhof on April 9, 1932, and while multiple photos post-dating his arrival show Grete Gramatzki, none of her husband exist; I surmise he was no longer alive by the time my father moved to town.
Figure 3. Grete Gramatzki on what would have been her 52nd birthday on June 13, 1937, with an unknown friend on her left and my father’s then-girlfriend Erika on her right. My father left Tiegenhof shortly after this photo was takenFigure 4. Signet ring given to my father by Grete Gramatzki, once belonging to her husband
“The main element of the coat of arms on the ring shows a sloped battle axe embedded in a shield on what was once a red background, today only very faintly visible. The Gramatzki family is Polish aristocracy of the so-called Topór tribe or clan, once living around Preußisch Eylau [today: south of Kaliningrad, Russia]. And, in fact comparing the ring’s coat of arms to that of the Topór tribe shows them to be remarkably similar.”
A signet ring is described as “. . .having a flat bezel, usually wider than the rest of the hoop, which is decorated, normally in intaglio, so that it will leave a raised (relief) impression of the design when the ring is pressed onto soft sealing wax or similar material.” Thus, in the case of the ring given by Die Schlummermutter to my father it is essentially the “signature” of the Gramatzki family and a mirror image of their family’s coat of arms, so I logically assumed. However, Mr. Grzegorz Gola remarked the following:
“In my opinion, this is a variant of the ‘oksza’ coat of arms. (Figure 5) It is very similar to the ‘topór’ coat of arms. (Figure 6) ‘Oksza’ is a battle axe with a sharp tip, inaccurately, a halberd. According to the rules of heraldry, ‘oksza’ is turned to the right [left, when looking at the impression that would be pressed onto soft sealing wax]. The Gramatzki family had a ‘topór’ coat of arms. The Gramacki family had a ‘oksza’ coat of arms. The name ‘Gramacki’ in Polish is pronounced almost identically to the German pronunciation of ‘Gramatzki.’”
Figure 5. The “Oksza” Polish Coat of Arms of the Gramacki familyFigure 6. The very similar “Topór” Polish Coat of Arms of the Gramatzki family
It’s not entirely clear what to make of this, that the ring given to my father, supposedly belonging to Grete Gramatzki’s husband, shows the Gramacki rather than the Gramatzki coat of arms. Possibly, the Polish Gramacki’s originally hailed from Germany or Prussia, and the Gramacki’s and Gramatzki’s have common ancestors.
Figure 7. The signet ring’s heraldic border; neither the Oksza nor the Topór coat of arms bear such a border
Mr. Grzegorz Gola noted one other thing:
“. . .it is interesting that the coat of arms has a heraldic border (a narrow strip on the edge of the coat of arms). (Figure 7) This is very rare in Polish coat of arms. Much more often, this occurs in Scottish, French or English coat of arms. Formerly, in Poland, this meant it was the coat of arms of a younger, newer branch of the family. (In England and France, the heraldic border meant the family of an illegitimate child.)”
Perhaps the first and second issues are interrelated, the slight variation in the shape of the battle axe and the presence of a heraldic border, indicating that Grete Gramatzki’s husband was from a younger branch of an older family or an offspring of an illegitimate son.
Note: In this post, I discuss the evidence for my father’s, Dr. Otto Bruck, conversion to Christianity from Judaism, confirmation of which I recently came upon completely inadvertently.
Growing up, my father, Dr. Otto Bruck, never discussed being born into the Jewish religion. If my memory is correct, I think I first learned about it when I was visiting my maternal grandmother in Nice, France as a child. At the time, we were walking through Vieux Nice, when she turned, pointed to a building, told me that’s where my father worked as a dentist after WWII, and mentioned he was Jewish; it would be many years before I understood the significance of all this. Regular readers may recall I discussed my father’s time in Nice after the war in Post 26 and touched on the fact that he was not legally permitted to practice dentistry in France because he was “apatride,” stateless. He was eventually caught and fled to America before he could be brought up on charges that were eventually dropped by the French authorities.
Because religion was not a part of my upbringing, I never gave much thought to it, although, ironically, I was eventually baptized as a Roman Catholic in Lyon, France on August 2, 1957, when I was six years old. (Figure 1) Given the events my father had lived through, it made sense to him I should have a religion. It’s always puzzled me, however, why my father thought that being baptized would afford me any protection if a future anti-Semitic political entity gained power and decided, as the Nazis had, that anyone with two Jewish grandparents is a Jew. Puzzles without answers.
Given my father’s casual attitude about many things, including relatives and religion, it’s not surprising that much of what I’ve learned about such matters has involved a lot of effort. Because my father considered himself German rather than Jewish, it would have made sense to me if he had converted to Christianity from Judaism. But, as I just remarked, because of my father’s casual attitude, it would also not have surprised me if he’d never made the effort to formally convert. Regardless, I’d never previously been able to find definitive proof either way.
The archives at the Centrum Judaicum Berlin include documentation that my father’s brother, Dr. Fedor Bruck, converted from Judaism at the Messiah Chapel in Berlin’s Prenzlauer Berg, Kastanienallee 22 on June 11, 1939, very late indeed. Similarly, the Centrum Judaicum Berlin retains archival records for my Aunt Susanne’s husband, Dr. Franz Müller, who converted much earlier, on November 25, 1901, but still lost his teaching position at Humboldt University many years later, in 1933.
I’m unaware of any comprehensive database that includes the names and records of Jewish converts in Germany. However, since conversion records survive at the Centrum Judaicum for both of my uncles, and since my father attended dental school in Berlin, I began the search for proof of my father’s own conversion here; they found nothing although it was suggested that knowing the specific church where he might have converted could prove useful. Knowing my father had also apprenticed in Danzig [today: Gdansk, Poland] for a short period after graduating from dental school, I contacted the archives there, again to no avail. The other place I reckoned where my father might have converted to Christianity was the town where he was a dentist between April 1932 and April 1937, Tiegenhof [today: Nowy Dwor Gdanski, Poland], although I had no idea at the time where to begin looking for such records.
I’ve learned, it was not uncommon beginning in the last half of the nineteenth century for German-Jews to convert to Christianity as a means of assimilating into German society. A virulent wave of anti-Semitism that had emerged in Germany in the 1880s may have been another factor in the decision of some Jews to convert.
I remember, as a child, my father talking about his time in Tiegenhof and how he drank heavily in those days. Multiple pictures from my father’s days there exist showing him visibly inebriated. (Figure 2) My father was by no means an alcoholic, and he justified his heavy drinking as “necessary to fit in.” I’ve mentioned in earlier posts that my father was an active sportsman, particularly an excellent tennis player. It’s highly likely there were barriers to becoming a member of the various sports and social organizations in Tiegenhof to which my father belonged, religion no doubt being one of them. Thus, I have concluded that if my father did not convert to Christianity before he arrived in Tiegenhof, the provincial mores of this small town may have necessitated he do so here. That said, until recently, I’d been unable to find any evidence my father ever converted.
Few of my father’s papers survive, but one document that has caught my attention only because it included the names of two members of the Joost family. (Figure 3) Readers must understand that on account of all the Tiegenhof-related documents, books, and address directories I’ve perused over the years, many family surnames are now extremely familiar to me; such was the case with the surname “Joost.” In reviewing this document, I was absolutely convinced it was a dental invoice because at the top of the paper it included my father’s name and identified him as a “zahnarzt,” a dentist. Still, it seemed odd my father would have saved only one invoice among the many he’d no doubt written over the years as a dentist.
Setting aside this anomaly, I began to research in various databases the Joost names I found on the paper in question. As readers can see, towards the bottom left side is written “Alb. Joost,” while on the bottom right side is written “f. Alb. Joost Kathe Joost.” From ancestry.com, I discovered there lived a “Schneidermeister,” a tailor, in Tiegenhof, by the name of “Jacob Albert Joost,” born on July 27, 1865, who died on January 23, 1937. The profession was passed on to his son, “Alfred Albert Joost,” born on June 4, 1898 (Figure 4-5), who died on February 18, 1975; he was married to Käthe Großnick. (Figure 6) The existence of the father and son tailors was confirmed by various Tiegenhof Address Books. (Figures 7-10) Because both father and son had Albert in their name, I was uncertain whether the presumed dental work had been done on the father or son.
To resolve this confusion, I asked one of my cousins to decipher the document. I learned the document was a receipt not for dental work, as I’d thought, but for payment of a church tax. Like in Germany and several other European countries, in the Free State of Danzig, where Tiegenhof was located, members of the Protestant or Catholic Churches were compelled to pay a church tax of 7.5% of their income. In 1936, my father was obviously a member of the Evangelische Kirche in Tiegenhof (Figures 11-14), and his annual tax amounted to 90 Guilden 90 Pfenninge; he was permitted to pay his obligation in four installments. The first payment of 22 Guilden 74 Pfenninge was made on October 6, 1936, and it was receipted by “Alb. Joost,” while the second and third installments were made on December 29, 1936. Kaethe Joost was the authorized representative of Albert Joost, so the “f” in “f. Alb. Joost Kathe Joost” stands for “fuer,” “for” or “in place of,” indicating she signed the receipt in lieu of her husband. The last installment would have been due on March 15, 1937, a payment my father is unlikely to have made because by then he would no doubt have been expelled from the Church for being of the “Jewish race.” By mid-1937, my father had left Tiegenhof.
Having found the clear-cut proof that my father had converted to Christianity and knowing he’d been a member of Tiegenhof’s Evangelical Church, I contacted Mr. Peter Hanke from the Danzig Forum asking him whether conversion records for this church still exist. He told me he’d never found such records, and that they’d likely not survived the turmoil of WWII. This was disappointing but hardly unexpected.
Interestingly, Peter did find a brief reference to Albert Joost in Vol. 36 of the “Tiegenhofer Nachrichten,” the one-time annual journal for former German residents of Tiegenhof and their descendants. In German it says: “Bei Joost war fruehmorgens um 4 Uhr Licht, um diese Zeit arbeitete er bereits in seiner Werkstatt; um 9 Uhr abends war immer noch das Petroleumlicht in der Werkstatt zu sehen. Der war einer von den Tiegenoertern, die ich nie in einem Gasthaus gesehen habe, aber jeden Sonntag im blauen Anzug in der Kirche.” Translated: “Joost was already at work at 4 a.m. in the morning. At 9 p.m. the kerosene lamp could still be seen in his workshop. That man was one of the “Tiegenoerter,” never seen in a tavern but come Sunday always wore a blue suit to church.” Possibly, Albert Joost was the “tithe collector” with his wife for Tiegenhof’s Evangelical Church.
Proof of my father’s conversion to Christianity came in a most roundabout way. As mentioned, it’s highly unlikely his actual conversion document survived WWII, but the important thing is that my father’s attempt to assimilate into German society ended in failure and he was still forced to flee to save himself.
Note: This article provides a brief update to another Blog post of August 2017 about Hans “Mochum” Wagner, a once-close friend from my father’s years living in Tiegenhof.
Unlike “Die Schlummermutter,” “Grete Gramatzki,” towards whom my father had almost maternal feelings and spoke of fondly and often, my father never once mentioned Hans “Mochum” Wagner’s name when I was growing up. As a matter of fact, nowhere in my father’s photo albums is his name even written. This seemed odd given the many pictures there are of him. Once again, it was my father’s 94-year-old friend, Peter Lau, who recognized Mochum Wagner (Figure 1) and told me what he could remember of him. Given the National Socialist era through which my father lived, perhaps I should not be surprised that Mochum Wagner was a wraith. Like many Germans at the time, Mochum likely calibrated that remaining friends with a Jew was not only impossible but dangerous. I can hardly imagine the pain and disappointment my father felt at losing a close friend, probably one of many. Still, perhaps this provided the necessary impetus for my dad to leave Tiegenhof while he still could and enabled him to survive WWII.
Among the things Peter Lau told me about Mochum Wagner was that his father was a “Schornsteinfegermeister,” a chimney sweep, and that Mochum was killed early during WWII. I was able to confirm the former from Günter Jeglin’s book “TIEGENHOF und der Kreis Großes Werder in Bildern”; towards the back of this book there are listings of former businesses in Tiegenhof and their operators, and under the profession of “Schornsteinfegermeister,” appears the name “WAGNER, J.” As to when or where, or even whether, Mochum Wagner had died, I had not previously been able to confirm this.
In the previous two posts, I’ve discussed the assistance that a member of “Forum.Danzig.de,” Peter Hanke, has graciously provided in resolving several troublesome issues related to former residents of Tiegenhof whom my father was acquainted with. In Post 29, I mentioned that Peter directed me to a database on FamilySearch entitled “Heimatortskartei Danzig-Westpreußen, 1939-1963.” This is a civil register of refugees from the former province of Danzig-Westpreußen, Germany, now Gdańsk and Bydgoszcz provinces in Poland. Consisting of handwritten and typed index-sized cards, it was developed by the German Red Cross after WWII to help people find their families who’d been expelled from this region. All the available cards have been photographed and uploaded to FamilySearch.
Peter sent me a download of a “Heimatortskartei,” for a JOHANNES WAGNER (Figures 2a & 2b), the father of Mochum Wagner. Of the roughly 4,000 cards I’ve studied from this database, it is among the most informative. It provides the names and dates of birth of Johannes Wagner’s seven children by his wife, HEDWIG née AUSTEN; it gives their dates of birth and the date Johannes’s wife died.
According to the Heimatortskartei, Hans Wagner, my father’s one-time friend, was born on June 12, 1909 in Tiegenhof. His profession was “Sportlehrer,” or physical education teacher. (Figure 3) He died during WWII, as Peter Lau had asserted. He was killed or went missing on February 11, 1942, in Volkhov, Russia [German: Wolchow], located 76 miles east of St. Petersberg, formerly Leningrad. Mochum may have died during the Russian offensive launched in January of 1942 against the Germans around the Wolchow River. Peter Hanke checked the German website, “Volksbund Deutsche Kriegsgräberfürsorge e.V.,” with data on German war casualties, and confirmed birth and death information. (Figure 4)
The Wagner family Heimatortskartei provided other information, including the names and birth dates of Mochum Wagner’s six siblings; three of these siblings are listed in the 1927-28 Tiegenhof Address Book. (Figure 5) In Post 6, I discussed names found in my father’s 1932 Pocket Calendar. Under December 5th, my father recorded “Truden,” one of his girlfriends (Figures 6 & 7); this is clearly Mochum Wagner’s sister, Gertrud “Truden” Wagner, whose date of birth was December 4, 1912 (the difference of one day is not considered significant since such information was sometimes approximated by family).
In his 1932 Day Planner, my father also records an indecipherable name by the date June 12th, the day Mochum Wagner was born (Figure 8); this may be a notation of his former friend.
One Wagner whose identity cannot be confirmed from the Wagner family Heimatortskartei is that of “Hanni Wagner.” In two photos taken in Steegen [today: Stegna, Poland] showing Mochum Wagner is his German Army Lieutenant’s uniform, she is alongside him. (Figures 9 & 10) Since Mochum is not known to have been married, I’ve always assumed this was one of his sisters, although “Hanni” is not a typical diminutive for any of their names, so her identity remains in doubt. Since Mochum Wagner, or “Johannes Wagner,” as he was officially named, died in February 1942, the two pictures with Hanni Wagner and Alfred Schlenger taken in 1942 were likely recorded only weeks before Mochum died.
Note: This article provides an update to my Blog post of August 2017 about “Die Schlummermutter,” the landlady and owner of the building on Markstraße 8 in Tiegenhof where my father had his dental practice and lived.
Readers may recall the frustration I expressed in my original post about being unable to figure out who exactly the Schlummermutter was. I explained the lengths to which I went to ascertain her identity, and how I eventually learned from three Tiegenhof “old-timers” that her married name had been Ms. Grete Gramatzki, and that she’d been referred to as “Dicke Grete” (“Fat Grete”), because of her size; no one, however, could tell me her maiden name. (Figure 1)
Upon my father’s departure from Tiegenhof, roughly in mid-1937, Ms. Gramatzki gave my father a signet ring that had once belonged to her husband. The main element of the coat of arms on the ring shows a sloped battle axe embedded in a shield on what was once a red background, today only very faintly visible. (Figure 2) The Gramatzki family is Polish aristocracy of the so-called Topór tribe or clan, once living around Preußisch Eylau [today: south of Kaliningrad, Russia]. And, in fact comparing the ring’s coat of arms to that of the Topór tribe shows them to be remarkably similar. (Figure 3) Thus, in searching for Ms. Gramatzki’s origins, I kept looking for a baronial connection which I was unable to find. To remind readers what I wrote in my original post:
“I came across a gentleman, named ‘August Archibald von Gramatzki’ born in 1837 who died in May 1913 in Danzig, within the period I am seeking, who coincidentally was married to a ‘Margarethe Clara von Gramatzki, née Mönch’ born January 7, 1871, seemingly about the Schlummermutter’s age. By all measures, this would have seemed a perfect fit, since this Archibald von Gramatzki was a Baron with long-standing connections to nearby-Danzig, first as the District Administrator (Landrat) for ‘Kreis Danzig-Land’ from 1867 to 1887, and, after it was subdivided, for ‘Kreis Danziger Niederung,’ from 1887-1895. The only thing that belies this conclusion is that in 1937, the year my father left Tiegenhof for good, a birthday party was held in the Schlummermutter’s honor on the 13th of June.”
I’ve previously mentioned that periodically readers send me documents, photos and/or information related to my Blog posts. Recently, one reader suggested I register for a German Forum, “Forum.Danzig.de,” discussed in Post 29, which devotes an entire section to Tiegenhof. In my first post after registering I asked members for their help in learning more about “Die Schlummermutter.” People were exceptionally helpful, and a few members uncovered a different “Margarete” married to yet another member of the Gramatzki family. This lady also seemed a possible candidate, but, once again, her date of birth did not match that of Die Schlummermutter, June 13th. Given my father’s penchant for exactitude, I never contemplated that because my father would soon be leaving Tiegenhof for good that he and Ms. Gramatzki’s friends would move her birthday celebration forward. If my father wrote June 13th as Grete’s birthday, I knew this was her date of birth. (Figure 4)
Several days passed with no further developments. Then, Mr. Peter Hanke, the Forum member discussed in Post 29 who has been of enormous help, sent me a very poor copy of a marriage record between a “HANS ERICH GRAMATZKI” and a “MARGARETHA WILHELMINE GLEIXNER” that took place on October 4, 1919; at the time of their marriage, Erich Gramatzki was 40, born around 1879, and Margaretha Gleixner was 34, born around 1885, thus, within the general time-frame I was searching. Peter uncovered this marriage record in “archion.de,” a web portal of the German Protestant Lutheran Church, to which he’s subscribed. Without Peter’s help, it’s unlikely I would have stumbled upon this record on my own.
This Margaretha began to appear like a “viable” candidate. And, this was confirmed the next day when Peter sent me additional documentation from the registry of baptisms from Tiegenhof’s Protestant Church for the year 1885. Here, Peter found Margaretha Wilhelmine Gleixner listed, identifying her parents as GUSTAV THEODOR GLEIXNER and his wife AUGUSTA née KINDER, and, most importantly, giving her birthday as the 13th of June, just as my father had asserted; Margaretha was baptized on the 26th of July, with four godparents present, including an uncle named RICHARD GLEIXNER. (Figures 5a, 5b & 5c)
Having finally discovered the Schlummermutter’s maiden name after years of searching was exhilarating. Next, I turned to ancestry.com and found a surprising number of historic documents related to the Gramatzki and Gleixner families. I found copies of both documents Peter had sent me, including a more legible copy of the marriage register. (Figure 6) I learned Margaretha’s father-in-law, KARL ADOLF GRAMATZKI, had been a “kornmeister,” a grain operator dealing in cereals who also kept the books. Margaretha’s father, Gustav Theodor Gleixner, had been a dye-house owner, and her husband, Hans Erich Gramatzki, a general practitioner. I located Hans Erich Gramatzki’s birth certificate showing he was born on August 10, 1879. (Figure 7) For the Gleixner family, I partially reconstructed five generations ranging from the late 18th century to the early 20th century, while for the Gramatzki family I found three generations of relatives. This included the birth register for Richard Hermann Gleixner, Margaretha’s godfather and uncle, who I learned was born on July 14, 1861.
After confirming the names of Margaretha’s father, uncle, and husband, I searched for them in the various Tiegenhof Address Books (i.e., 1910, 1911, 1925, 1927-28, 1930, and 1943). An Erich Gramatzki is listed in the 1910 and 1911 directories (Figure 8), then again in the 1930 directory (Figure 9), in all instances identified as a “prakt. Arzt [= praktikumer Arzt],” or general practitioner. In 1910 and 1911 he is living on Vorhofstraße, and in 1930 at Markstraße 8. When I wrote the initial post, I was uncertain whether Erich Gramatzki was related to Grete Gramatzki, but he was clearly her future husband. Finding him living at Markstraße 8 in 1930 confirms their relationship, and suggests he was still alive at the time. By the time my father arrived in Tiegenhof in 1932, Erich may have been dead, but since there are no known Tiegenhof Address Books between 1930 and 1943, I can’t confirm this.
The 1925 and 1930 address books show Margaretha’s father, Gustav Gleixner, living at Markstraße 8 (Figures 10 & 11); this is the building later owned by the Schlummermutter where my father lived and had his dental practice. Two Richard Gleixners are also listed, one a bäckermeister, a baker, the other a rentier, an archaic German word for “a well-off person or pensioner,” both located at Bahnhofstraße 153. Initially, I thought they were the same person because of the identical street address, but now think they are nephew and uncle.
Curious as to whether the edifice where the bakery was located still exists, I asked Peter whether a contemporary street map of Tiegenhof with numbered buildings exists. Peter made an interesting discovery while looking for such a map. In Günter Jeglin’s book “TIEGENHOF und der Kreis Großes Werder in Bildern,” there is a picture whose caption in German reads as follow:
“Vor dem Haus Schlenger stehend, ein Blick in die Bahnhofstraße. Links: Haus Herm. Schulz, Otto Enders, Klizke-Bäcker Gleixner, wie seine Schwester, die Dicke Grete Gramatzki, ihn nannte. Rechts: der um 1900 erbaute Machandel-Speicher, dahinter Haus Labowski, der hohe Giebel Welnitz/Gertler.”
Translated: “Looking down Bahnhofstraße from the front of the Schlenger house. To the left: House of Herm. Schulz, Otto Enders, Klizke-baker Gleixner, as his sister, fat Grete Gramatzki, referred to him. To the right: The Machandel store, built around 1900, the Labowski House, then the high gable, Welnitz/Gertner”
As explained to me, “klizke” or “klitzke” is a Low German expression for the nowadays better-known words “klitschig” or “klietschig,” meaning “doughy.” This may imply the baker Gleixner was overweight like his sister, Dicke Grete Gramatzki.
Figure 12-Richard Gleixner identified as a “Bäckermeister” (baker) and Ida Epp as a “Werderkaffeegeschäft” (coffee shop) in the 1943 Tiegenhof Address Book
Regardless, the caption provided the first revelation that Margaretha had a brother and that he was a baker. Presumably, this was the Richard Gleixner listed as a “Bäckermeister” in the Tiegenhof address books for 1925, 1927-28, 1930 and 1943 (Figure 12), not to be confused with the uncle Richard Gleixner living at the same address who was by 1925 already a “rentier,” but formerly a baker too according to birth and/or death registers I found for three of his children.
After learning of Margaretha’s brother, I found the registers for his baptism (Figure 13) and marriage (Figure 14), showing he was born as GUSTAV ADOLF RICHARD GLEIXNER on June 20, 1880, was baptized on August 1, 1880, was married to ELLA EMMA MARIE EICHNER in Berlin on April 5, 1905, and gave birth to URSULA CHARLOTTE GLEIXNER on September 14, 1919, with a different wife, WANDA GLEIXNER née FEDERAU.
In the 1930 Tiegenhof Address Book, I made another interesting discovery. I found the following listing “GRAMATZKI und [=and] EPP, FIRMA MARGARETE. SUSANNA, WÄSCHE UND HANDARBEITSGESCHÄFT [=Lingerie & handicraft business], MARKSTRAßE 8.” (Figures 9 & 15) In Post 5, I assumed the two sisters, Idschi & Suse Epp, with whom my father had once been friends, had simply boarded in the same establishment as my dad. Instead, it seems both had been business partners of the Schlummermutter; in the 1943 directory, only Ida Epp is listed at Adolf Hitler Straße 8, as Markstraße was known during the Nazi era (Figure 12), confirming that Grete Gramatzki was no longer alive (i.e., one informant told me she died in 1939 or 1940, although, to date, I’ve not located her death certificate).
Peter Hanke uncovered a fleeting reference on “Forum.Danzig” that even as a child Grete Gramatzki was overweight and already referred to as “die dicke Grete Gleixner,” the fat Grete Gleixner.
Readers are no doubt overwhelmed with the multitude of names that have been thrown at them. Suffice it to say, that between the information collected and sent to me by Peter Hanke from “Forum.Danzig.de” and the various address books from Tiegenhof spanning from 1910 to 1943, I was incrementally able to ascertain the Schlummermutter’s maiden name and origin, as well as her family’s connection to Tiegenhof. I remain optimistic that with more forensic investigation, I may ultimately be able to identify Grete Gramatzki’s family members in my father’s pictures. This is a long-shot, but not impossible given where I started and what I’ve already learned.
“The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible.”—Oscar Wilde
Note: This story has me going back to the town in the Free State of Danzig, Tiegenhof, where my father was a dentist between April 1932 and April 1937, to talk about a man whose destiny has remained opaque, a man named Heinrich “Heinz” Regehr. Though I relate this tale in a linear fashion, the way I learned things did not follow a straight line.
For readers who have regularly followed my Blog, you may recall from Post 2 that my father’s now 94-year-old friend, Juergen “Peter” Lau, whom he first met in Tiegenhof as a young boy, recognized numerous people in my father’s photographs. This story begins with one such identification, an individual named Heinrich “Heinz” Regehr. The sole photograph of Heinz Regehr shows him walking across the street in the former East Prussian city of Königsberg (today: Kaliningrad, Russia) in April 1936, in the company of two other friends, one of whom is known to me, Hans “Mochum” Wagner discussed in Post 4. (Figure 1) When Peter first identified Heinz Regehr, he told me his name, nothing more.
In yet another post, Post 6, discussing the names in my father’s 1932 Pocket Calendar, under the date January 13th I mentioned finding a “Linchen Regehr,” who I would later learn was the wife of this Heinz Regehr. (Figure 2) Seemingly, the Regehrs, husband and wife, were friends or acquaintances of my father’s, so I became intrigued about what had happened to them.
Thus, upon my return to the United States in 2013, I turned to the membership index in the back of the “Tiegenhofer Nachrichten,” the now-defunct annual journal for former German residents of Tiegenhof and their descendants. On multiple occasions over the years, the index of members has been immeasurably useful, in part because the maiden names of women are provided. I used the index to identify all the people with the surname “Regehr,” and went on a letter-writing campaign in the hopes I could learn Heinz Regehr’s fate.
One German lady to whom I wrote was a Ms. Anneliese Franzen née Regehr. Some weeks passed, and eventually I was contacted on her behalf by her daughter living in Atlanta, Georgia, Ms. Meike Guenzerodt. She explained to me that Heinz Regehr was her mother’s father, that’s to say, her grandfather, who had disappeared in fighting at the end of WWII and was presumed dead.
Ms. Guenzerodt provided a little history about the family’s escape from Tiegenhof towards the end of WWII. Meike explained that Anneliese’s mother had been involuntarily institutionalized in a psychiatric facility outside Tiegenhof, and this delayed the family’s departure as the Russians were approaching. Eventually, however, families of institutionalized patients were assured by German authorities their loved ones would be evacuated to Bremen, in the western part of Germany, before the Russians arrived. With these assurances in hand, Anneliese’s grandfather took Anneliese and her two sisters and fled westward; at the time, Anneliese, the youngest, was six years old (born 1938); the middle sister, Evamarie, was 16 (born 1928); and the oldest, Lore, was 21 (born 1923). Their father, Heinrich Regehr, was in the German Army at the time and they would eventually learn had gone missing in action in 1945 near Küstrin, 60 miles outside Berlin in the German state of Brandenburg, on the Oder River along the border with Poland.
The promised evacuations of the patients in the psychiatric facility never materialized, and the doctors and nurses decamped, leaving the inmates to fend for themselves. With no staff to prevent them from wandering off, Anneliese’s mother made her way back to Tiegenhof. There, a nurse found her wandering the streets and took her in, where she survived a mere three weeks before succumbing to disease in 1945. After the war, the family was visited by this former nurse and learned of the mother’s fate.
Meike explained that because of the family’s hasty retreat from Tiegenhof, no family photos of Heinz Regehr had survived. She asked whether I could send her a copy of my father’s picture of him for her mother, an entreaty I was most happy to oblige.
Believing I had resolved the question of Heinz Regehr’s fate, I set the issue aside. In 2014, when I again visited Peter Lau in Germany, our conversation veered to Heinz, and I mentioned I’d learned he’d gone missing in action during the war and presumably died. I can practically visualize Peter’s look of disbelief when I told him this. He recounted that Heinz Regehr had in fact survived WWII, and eventually immigrated to Alberta, Canada. He’d previously married Lina Regehr, following the death of her first husband, Franz Schlenger, a son of Otto Schlenger, owner of Tiegenhof’s Dampfmahlmuehle (steam-operated flour mill). I would later learn from a descendant of Hedwig “Hedsch” Schlenger, to which Post 10 was devoted, that Lina and Heinz had had two boys, Henry Regehr, born in 1932, and Martin Regehr, born in 1940.
At this point, I started to wonder whether I’d uncovered the proverbial “skeleton in the family closet.” I began to question if Heinz Regehr had not had two families, that’s to say, that he had somehow survived WWII. With one wife, I knew he’d had three daughters born, respectively, in 1923, 1928 and 1938, and with Linchen Regehr, he’d apparently had two sons, born, respectively, in 1932 and 1940; the fact that he’d had his third daughter by his first wife between the time he had his two sons with his second wife troubled me greatly. As implausible as this may seem, readers must remember that Anneliese had “affirmatively” identified her father, and Peter Lau had confirmed my father’s picture depicted Heinz Regehr. Nonetheless, I never felt entirely comfortable with my conclusion, so I set the issue aside for future consideration as I continued researching other facets of my family’s history.
It wasn’t until I began writing stories for this Blog that I came back to the question of Heinz Regehr. I turned to ancestry.com, and did a query on him, and, lo and behold, was directed to “Find-A-Grave,” which confirmed that Heinrich Regehr (1898-1965) and his wife, Lina Regehr (1901-1968), were buried in Mountain View Memorial Gardens in Alberta, Canada. I also uncovered an obituary for the older of Heinrich and Lina Regehr’s sons, Henry Regehr (1932-2012). (Figure 3) The obituary confirmed that Henry Regehr was born in Tiegenhof on June 11, 1932, and provided names of surviving family members, including a son named Robert Regehr. Armed with this information, I turned to Alberta’s White Pages, and phoned several Regehrs who seemed promising. A few days later, Henry’s son, Robert Regehr, returned my call and confirmed he was Heinrich Regehr’s grandson. We exchanged information, he shared a little of his family’s story, and eventually he would confirm that my father’s picture was indeed his grandfather. So, it now seemed I had the “proof” that Heinz had survived the war and immigrated to Canada, seemingly abandoning his first family.
Not wanting to leave any stone unturned, I tried to learn more about Anneliese Franzen’s father who’d gone missing in action during WWII, thinking there might be updated information or something to suggest it was a different Heinrich Regehr. I discovered a German website (https://www.volksbund.de/en/volksbund.html) with data on German war casualties. This organization describes itself as follows: “Volksbund Deutsche Kriegsgräberfürsorge e.V. is a humanitarian organization charged by the government of the Federal Republic of Germany with recording, maintaining and caring for the graves of German war casualties abroad.” This website included the name of the Heinrich Regehr I presumed was Anneliese’s father, so I requested a copy of the documentation. What I received confirmed what Anneliese’s daughter had told me, namely, that her grandfather had gone missing on March 1, 1945. (Figure 4) An additional piece of information that Volksbund Deutsche provided was the date of birth of Heinrich Regehr, specifically, March 27, 1897. While not necessarily significant, it differed by a year from what I’d discovered on “Find-A-Grave” for the Heinrich Regehr in Alberta. Hoping to resolve this discrepancy, I contacted Alberta’s Provincial Government trying to obtain his death certificate but was told, not unexpectedly, only family members could obtain this document.
Within the past month, I again queried “Heinrich Regehr” on ancestry.com. Because “Regehr” is a common Mennonite name, often tens of thousands or even millions of “hits” will appear. Perhaps, because I’d never previously scrolled through enough of the names, on this particular occasion I was directed to an 1927-28 Address Book for the “Kreis Großes Werder,” the “kreis” or “state” (i.e, the equivalent of a county) in which Tiegenhof was located; I’d never previously come across this directory for Tiegenhof, a comprehensive one 23 pages long. What I discovered gave me further pause. It included two listings for Heinrich Regehr, one on Lindenstraße, the second on Schloßgrund. (Figure 5) However, knowing that Heinrich had been a “Bankbeamter,” or “bank official,” at the “Kreissparkaße,” or district savings bank, and knowing this bank had been located on “Schloßgrund,” I considered that the second listing might be his private residence. By itself, this was still not enough to conclude there were two Heinrich Regehrs.
A brief digression is necessary. Occasionally readers will send me photographs or documents related to my Blog posts or provide other useful information. One such reader recently suggested I register for a forum, entitled “Forum.Danzig.de,” which devotes an entire section to Tiegenhof. Because this forum is in German and requires painstaking use of Google Translate, which in the case of German yields completely tortured transliterations, it took me time to sign up. With an English-speaking member’s assistance, I eventually negotiated the process, and uploaded my first question. While this forum has turned into an absolute boon, results of which will be presented in upcoming posts, in this post I want to focus on Heinrich Regehr.
The gentleman from “Forum. Danzig.de” who assisted me, Mr. Peter Hanke, has been gracious and helpful beyond measure. In the span of less than two weeks, Peter has helped me solve no fewer than three thorny issues that have confounded me for several years, including the question of Heinrich Regehr. Uncertain whether the Danzig Forum knew of the 1927-28 Address Book for the Kreis Großes Werder I’d discovered on ancestry.com, I offered to make the Tiegenhof portion of it available to members. Peter confirmed the Forum’s awareness of this directory, then gave me a link to additional directories for Tiegenhof, which he offered to send. After looking through the list, I asked him for two address books for landowners in Kreis Großes Werder, one for 1925, the other for 1930.
After receiving these address books, I searched for Heinrich Regehr, hoping, once and for all to resolve the question of whether I was dealing with one person or two. Unlike the 1927-28 address book, the 1925 address book included only the one Heinrich Regehr listed at Lindenstraße, seemingly related to a Hermann Regehr, a “hofbesitzer,” or farm owner, and “getreidehandlung,” someone involved in crop treatment. (Figure 6) The 1930 address book again included this Hermann Regehr, but also “Lina Regehr” at Vorhofstraße. (Figure 7) While unlikely, I briefly considered Heinrich had first been a farmer, then later gone into banking. While I had no definitive answer, because Lina Regehr’s address was different, I became more certain there were two different Heinrichs.
I mentioned in passing my quandary to Peter Hanke, and, unexpectedly, within a day he confirmed two Heinrich Regehrs had lived in Tiegenhof and provided the following information on each:
Heinrich REGEHR I (Figures 8a & 8b)
Business: Merchant
Rank: Unteroffizier (non-commissioned officer)
Date of birth: May 27, 1897
Place of birth: Neukirch [today:Nowa Cerkiew, Poland]
Address in Tiegenhof: Marienburgerstr. 14
Home State: Kreis Großes Werder
During WWII: Ground personnel in Elbing [today: Elbląg, Poland]
Missing in action since May 1, 1945 (somewhere near Küstrin/Reppen/West-Sternberg/Zorndorf)
Relatives: Father Hermann Regehr, born January 29, 1867
Place of birth: Rückenau [today: Rychnowo Żuławskie, Poland]
Address in Tiegenhof: Neue-Reihe 1-3
Business: Director of the Kreissparkaße
Immigrated to Canada after WWII: Calgary, Alberta
Wife: Lina, née ZULAUF widowed SCHLENGER
Children: Heini (Heinrich) (born June 11, 1932); Martin (born June 5, 1940)
Lina’s children by her first marriage: Brigitte SCHLENGER (born August 25, 1922 in Danzig-Langfuhr); Rudolf SCHLENGER (born October 11, 1923 in Neuteich)
Surprised as to the speed with which Peter had confirmed the existence of two Heinrich Regehrs, born in consecutive years, living in Tiegenhof at the same time, I naturally asked where the data came from. It was clear it didn’t originate from any Address Books. Peter gave me a link to a free online catalog on FamilySearch entitled “Heimatortskartei Danzig-Westpreußen, 1939-1963,” a database whose existence was previously unknown to me. This is a civil register of refugees from the former province of Danzig-Westpreußen, Germany, now Gdańsk and Bydgoszcz provinces in Poland. Consisting of handwritten and typed index-sized cards, it was developed by the German Red Cross after WWII to help people find their families who’d been expelled from this region. All the available cards have been photographed and uploaded to FamilySearch.
I reviewed the index cards on roughly 4,000 former residents of Tiegenhof. Not only did I relocate the Heimatortskartei for Heinrich Regehr I and II, but I also found a card for a Hermann Regehr (Figures 10 a & 10b); the names and dates of birth of Anneliese and her two siblings are included on the flip side of the card confirming this was the grandfather who fled Tiegenhof with his three grand-daughters. (Figure 11) This Hermann Regehr is found in the 1925, 1927-28 and 1930 Tiegenhof Address Books. In ancestry.com, I was also able to locate his birth register. (Figure 12) Additionally, Peter Hanke accessed the Church books of the Mennonites, a paid service, and discovered the family overview for Hermann Regehr’s father, Johann Regehr. (Figure 13) While not detailed here, the Mennonite books also contain information on Johann Regehr’s parents going back yet another generation
Similarly, for the family of the Heinrich Regehr II who wound up in Alberta, Canada, Peter accessed the Mennonite Church books for his father and grandfather, both also named Heinrich Regehr. (Figure 14)
The Heimatortskartei catalog often provides invaluable clues as to family connections, spouses, vital events, and more. Beyond the Regehrs, in at least three other instances, I connected names and/or dates on the cards to the corresponding information in my father’s 1932 Pocket Calendar or to pictures in my father’s collection. These will be the subject of future Blog posts.
I can hear readers saying, “It’s obvious there were two different Heinrich Regehrs!” And, while I would be inclined to agree, I try to avoid making facts fit a false narrative. The “fact” is that both Anneliese Franzen and Peter Lau recognized the same Heinrich Regehr. What I initially failed to consider is that because her father disappeared from her life when she was very young, no older than six years old, Anneliese may have had only vague recollections of what her father looked like and may have jumped to the conclusion, based on the name I provided, that the picture I sent was of her father. Regardless, taking the time to patiently research Heinrich Regehr has led to a finding that supports what Anneliese and her family have always known and dispels any notion their father “abandoned” them.
REFERENCE
Jeglin, Günter
1985 TIEGENHOF und der Kreis Großes Werder in Bildern.
Among the people my father, Dr. Otto Bruck, was acquainted with in Tiegenhof, and may even once have considered good friends, were the owners of Tiegenhof’s Dampfmahlmuehle (steam-operated flour mill), Hedwig “Hedsch” Schlenger, nee Fenger (b. June 13, 1899, Tiegenhof, Free State of Danzig-d. June 3, 1982, Hannover, Germany) and her husband, Alfred “Dicken” Schlenger (Figure 1). Using the membership list in the Tiegenhofer Nachrichten, the annual periodical for former German residents of Tiegenhof and their descendants, I had the good fortune to locate Hedsch Schlenger’s grand-daughter, a delightful lady by the name of Beate Lohff, nee Schlenger (Figure 2), living in Meppen, Germany. Readers will recall from an earlier post that my father had recorded Hedsch Schlenger’s name by June 13th in his 1932 Pocket Calendar, a date Beate would later confirm was when her grandmother was born in 1899 in Tiegenhof.
Not only was I fortunate enough to locate Hedsch Schlenger’s grand-daughter, but I also had the indisputable “luck” to learn that Beate had inherited some of her grand-parent’s personal papers and surviving pictures, which Beate graciously shared with me. The pictures, some of which have been discussed and shown in previous posts, included people whom my father had once known, including two personal friends, Kurt Lau and Hans “Mochum” Wagner. Perhaps even more valuable was a 12-page diary Hedsch Schlenger had written covering the period from roughly September 1944 through August 1947 that I had translated into English; readers will correctly surmise this overlaps with the period when the Russians overran Tiegenhof and East and West Prussia and worked their way westwards towards the heart of Nazi Germany as the German war-machine collapsed. Hedsch Schlenger’s diary provides a fascinating, albeit limited, look at this period. The initial entry is dated June 1, 1945, with subsequent entries dated, respectively, June 24, 1945; July 22, 1945; August 29, 1945; May 1947 and August 1947. According to Beate Lohff (personal communication), a portion of Hedsch Schlenger’s diary has been lost and was likely destroyed.
In this Blog post, I have extracted several sections of Hedsch Schlenger’s diary to highlight contemporary personal and historic events; provided brief commentary on the events or people discussed; depicted some of the individuals mentioned; and, finally, illustrated, using a few of my father’s pictures, the areas through which Hedsch and her entourage likely passed. Since most of the people mentioned will be of scant interest to the reader, I will focus primarily on the broader contemporary historical events that Hedsch Schlenger touches on that readers may find more entertaining. The complete translated diary can be found under Historic Documents for anyone interested in reading it, although readers should be prepared to go through it with an Atlas in hand.
Hedsch Schlenger’s initial diary entry dated “Schwerin, June 1, 1945”: “By September 1944, we had survived 5 years of war. My husband [Alfred] passed away in August [1944] after being severely ill for 8 weeks; my 19-year-old son Eberhard was an aircraftsman in Breslau (today: Wroclaw, Poland) and only my second 13-year-old son Juergen was with me in Tiegenhof, where I lived with my mother-in-law in the mill and where my husband used to work as a mill merchant.”
Throughout her diary, Hedsch Schlenger refers to her mother-in-law as “Omama,” although her given name was “Martha Schlenger, nee Ruhnau.” More will be said about her fate later.
Hedsch Schlenger’s diary entry: “The Russians advanced further and further into East and West Prussia and on January 23, 1945, the first tanks appeared in Elbing [today: Elblag, Poland], 20km (ca. 13 miles east-southeast) away from Tiegenhof. At 8 in the evening we received the first order to evacuate. . . At 11 p.m. it was all cancelled as the danger should have been over, but at 5 in the morning the situation became very serious. . . It was the 24th, my husband’s birthday, when we left the beautiful mill site at 8:30 in the morning.”
On the road, we were soon driving in convoy and moved forward very slowly because of the ice. We drank hot coffee for the first time at 3 p.m. in Steegen [today: Stegna, Poland] (15km), and all the vehicles gathered at 7 p.m. . .in Nickelswalde [today: Mikoszewo, Poland] (25km). Our Wanderer (car) soon crossed the river on the ferry. . .”
Commentary: Steegen was a beach community north of Tiegenhof where my father often recreated (Figures 3 & 4). Nickelswalde was the major ferry-crossing point across the Weichsel River [today: Vistula], a ferry my father often took on his way to Danzig (Figure 5 & 6).
Hedsch Schlenger’s diary entry: “In Danzig, I met Ruth van Bergen. . .thanks to her, I went once more to Tiegenhof by car. Our house was completely occupied by soldiers and plundered. . .The mill was in use, which means new flour and whole grain were produced by means of an electric motor. . . Ruth van Bergen and I spent the night in [Tiegenhof] and one could hear shooting from the front-line, which was 8km away. The next day we drove back through Burnwalde [on the Weichsel], where another pig was slaughtered and packed for us to take. The ferry from Rothebude took 10 hours because the roads were full of convoys all the way to Danzig.”
I made it once more to Tiegenhof with Erna Baumfolk. . .That night we stayed with the Regehrs (uncle). . .In the afternoon, we drove back with the Wehrmacht. I had a feeling then that I will never see my home again. The cemetery was the only place that remained untouched. I will never forget that peaceful image amidst the war. Will I ever see my husband’s grave again?”
Commentary: The above describe Hedsch Schlenger’s last two visits to Tiegenhof from Danzig. Following the war, the Communist Government in Poland not only expelled most remaining Germans but also made a concerted effort to remove traces of German occupation, a pattern we see repeated in other cities and towns across the country. Consequently, while many German-era buildings still stand today in Nowy Dwor Gdanski, the cemetery where Alfred Schlenger and other Germans were once buried in Tiegenhof no longer exists.
Hedsch Schlenger’s diary entry: “The situation in Danzig became increasingly dangerous. The Russians reached Graudenz [today: Grudziądz, Poland], Schneidemühl [today: Piła, Poland] and were close to Dirschau [today: Tczew, Poland] and were close to Stettin [today:Szczecin, Poland]. If we stood a chance to go west by train we had to leave Zoppot [today: Sopot, Poland] (Figure 7) again. Many of our friends had left by ship but it was very difficult to get tickets; train tickets were hard to get. Philipsen, my brother-in-law, left on the “Gustloff” as boatman. The ship was torpedoed at the beginning of February near Leba [today: Łeba, Poland]. Most likely he died in the attack. My sister [Lisbeth] often went to Gotenhafen/Gdingen [today: Gydnia, Poland] to get some news but always in vain.
All of a sudden, Doempke, my brother-in-law, managed to get me 3 places on a hospital train, and on February 24th, my mother, Jürgen and I set out from Neufahrwasser [today: Nowy Port, Poland] towards an uncertain destination. There were 15 wounded in the carriage who arrived by boat from Königsberg [today: Kaliningrad, Russia] and were loaded onto the train. . .It was very cold in the compartment and it took us 3 days to get to Stettin [today: Szczecin, Poland] through Pomerania.
On the 27th we arrived in Bad Kleinen in Mecklenburg, where we got off the train. Then we travelled through Schwerin, Ludwigslust, Wittenberge and Neustadt (Dosse) to Rathenow. . . [roughly 45 miles northwest of Berlin]”
Commentary: Here Hedsch Schlenger identifies some places the Russians captured as they were closing in on Pomerania and West Prussia, and touches on one of the lesser known disasters of World War II, specifically, the torpedoing of the former cruise ship known as the Wilhelm Gustloff.
Hedsch Schlenger’s contemporary account details how the Russians were advancing into West Prussia and Pomerania from the South and East. Other informant accounts I’ve collected suggest the Russians were even backtracking East to capture pockets of German resistance they may have bypassed on their way West. Some readers may recall from my earlier Blog post dealing with “Idschi and Suse [Epp]” that their brother, Gerhard Epp, did not evacuate from near Stutthof until May 6, 1945, indicating this area east of Danzig was likely one of the last captured by the Russians. On Figures 8, 9 & 10, I have circled some of the places that Hedsch Schlenger mentions in her narrative as she travels from Danzig to the German State of Mecklenburg.
Elsewhere in her diary, Hedsch Schlenger identifies her sister by name, “Lisbeth,” without providing her married name. In the section quoted above, Lisbeth’s husband is merely identified as “Philipsen.” It was initially unclear to me whether this was her husband’s prename or surname. However, I was eventually able to locate a birth record from the Evangelical Church in Tiegenhof for a “Otto Wilhelm Max Philipsen,” a child that Lisbeth, nee Fenger, had with her husband which confirmed that “Philipsen” was Lisbeth’s married name and that she was married to Otto Philipsen. I even found Lisbeth Philipsen’s name and address in Bremen on a page in Alfred Schlenger’s Address Book, given to me by Alfred’s grand-daughter (Figure 11).
The “Philipsen” mentioned in Hedsch Schlenger’s diary is this Otto Philipsen who died when the Wilhelm Gustloff was sunk in the Baltic Sea by Soviet Navy submarines. An American scholar by the name of Cathryn J. Prince, has written a riveting account of this little-known disaster in a 2013 book entitled “Death in the Baltic: The World War II Sinking of the Wilhelm Gustloff.” As the Russians were advancing from the East, Berlin made plans to evacuate upwards of 10,000 German women, children, and the elderly from West and East Prussia aboard a former cruise ship, the Wilhelm Gustloff. Sailing from Gotenhafen/Gdingen [today: Gydnia, Poland] through the icy waters of the Baltic Sea on January 30, 1945, the ship was soon found and sunk by Russian subs. An estimated 9,400 people lost their lives, six times the number lost on the Titanic!!
Hedsch Schlenger’s diary entries: “On April 12th, the Americans were already marching into Stendal [roughly 100 miles northwest of Berlin]. On this occasion, I wanted to leave Rathenow again for I did not wish to fall into the hands of the Russians. I did not flee from the East for that. . .
In the meantime, the Russians were getting closer and closer to Berlin, the Allied forces kept advancing from the West, and the Russians began new attacks even close to Stettin. They were now near Mecklenburg, and on May 1st, they were now no more than 20km away from Krakow am See [located in Mecklenburg-Western Pomerania, Germany, and the place where Hedsch, her mother and her son had temporarily taken refuge with friends as she was writing her account].
My mother. . .still wanted to stay there [Krakow am See]. However, in the morning one of the soldiers advised us to get on the truck going in the direction of Schwerin and make our way to Lübeck. By 9 we had packed everything and set out again to flee from the Russians, who were supposed to reach Krakow by 12. They were constantly on our heels during our journey. The streets were lined with tanks again, between them were soldiers, wounded and prisoners—a bleak string of hardened people, who had lost their homes and their country.
And suddenly the war ended. . .
June 24th: We are still in Schwerin, although every minute there is a rumor that the Russians will occupy this part of Mecklenburg as well. Many people from Danzig walk around with Danziger coat-of-arms on their clothes, and the rumors are circulating that a Free City shall be established again. But they lack any foundation.
July 22, 1945: Since [June] 19th we’ve been in Rostock. The Russians replaced the English in Schwerin. . .”
Commentary: In the closing weeks of fighting in Europe, the Allied powers had actually pushed beyond the previously agreed occupation zone boundaries determined at the 1945 Yalta Conference by the “Big Three” (Russia, America, and Britain) on how to split up Germany following WWII. In the case of the Americans, they had sometimes pushed by as much as 200 miles beyond the agreed boundaries. So, after about two months of holding certain areas meant to be in the Soviet zone, which was clearly the case with Schwerin, the Allied powers withdrew during July 1945, which corresponds with Hedsch Schlenger’s account.
Clearly, there was an unrealistic expectation among some former residents of Danzig that a Free City would once again be established there, a situation that obviously never came to pass.
Hedsch Schlenger’s diary entry: August 29, 1945: “We are still in Rostock. The refugees from the East keep coming still. Amongst them was also the Schritt family from Zoppot [today: Sopot, Poland], who knew for sure that Omama [Hedsch Schlenger’s mother-in-law, Martha Schlenger] had died there. . Allegedly the Doempkes tried to take their own lives. . .
. . .Many have taken their own lives, like my mother-in-law in Zoppot, who [died and]. . .is buried in the garden at Heidebergstraße. The Doempkes. . .also took poison. . . “
Commentary: Here, Hedsch Schlenger learns that her mother-in-law, Martha Schlenger, nee Ruhnau (“Omama”) (Figure 12), died in Zoppot as did the Doempkes, her brother-and-sister-in-law.
Many Germans who decided to stay in West Prussia as the Russians were approaching in the closing days of WWII were either killed or eventually took their own lives; those that survived were later expelled or naturalized as Polish citizens. In the case of women who stayed, they were the repeated victim of rape by Russian soldiers. My father’s friend from Tiegenhof, Peter Lau, to whom an earlier post was devoted, told me that his aunt decided to stay in Danzig to protect her property only to eventually arrive in West Germany months later a shattered woman on account of her brutal treatment at the hands of Russian soldiers. Peter also recounted that German women took refuge in what was once Tiegenhof’s Käsefabrik (cheese factory), and what is today the Muzeum Zulawskie, as the Russians were approaching; after the town was captured, these women were systematically removed from the factory and repeatedly raped.
Hedsch Schlenger’s diary entry: August 29, 1945: “Recently I met a Mr. Kurt Schlenger who is a distant relative of ours. He lives here in Rostock; he’s married and is a distinguished violinist. They live in Massmannstraße 10, have an 18-year-old daughter who wants to become an artist. I even met a sister of this Mr. Schlenger, a widow named Mrs. Seidel, who lives in Tremsenweg 4. They are very nice people, but completely different to us. They are dark, small and not as handsome as our Schlengers.”
Commentary: This entry took some time to unravel. Hedsch’s husband Alfred had a brother by the same name, Dr. Kurt Schlenger, who coincidentally was also a musician (Figure 13). Readers may recall from an earlier post that this Dr. Kurt Schlenger, born on April 20, 1909, was mentioned in my father’s 1932 Pocket Calendar. I spent a considerable amount of time searching for a Kurt Schlenger from Rostock, Germany on ancestry.com who could be the “distant relative” to whom Hedsch was referring. Eventually, I found one Kurt Schlenger in Rostock, Germany, born on June 11, 1893, who is likely the relative in question; his marriage certificate shows he was born in Preußisch Holland (Prussian Holland) [today: Pasłęk, Poland], 46km or less than 30 miles from Tiegenhof.
From German refugees continuing to arrive from the East, Hedsch Schlenger was either able to re-encounter people she knew from West Prussia and Tiegenhof, including people my father also knew, or learn about people who’d decided to stay behind. The fate of those who stayed behind, however, is often unclear.
NOTE: The following story does not relate to my father’s time in Tiegenhof, nor directly to any of his friends and acquaintances from his time there. Rather, it is connected to a query forwarded to me by the Director of the Muzeum Zulawskie from an American woman, looking for information on one of her relatives that lived in Tiegenhof in the 1870’s. Because her query overlapped with some of my own research and sources, it provides insight on how one can sometimes also further other people’s family investigations.
In March of 2017, Marek Opitz, Director of the Muzeum Zulawskie in Nowy Dwor Gdanski, and President of the Klub Nowodworski, forwarded a request for information from a Ms. Lori Hill living in Bend, Oregon. Because Marek, in his own words, considers me “an ambassador to the United States,” referring Ms. Hill to me seemed logical. Lori was asking the Muzeum Zulawskie whether they could tell her anything about a relative of hers, by the name of “Rudolph Wilhelm Ludwig Dargatz,” who had lived in Tiegenhof in the 1870’s.
My initial reaction when I received this referral was simply to think I could provide little help since my own father’s time in Tiegenhof had been much later and short, stretching from April 1932 through perhaps June 1937, and he was unlikely to have known her relative. With this in mind, I briefly explained my father’s connection to Tiegenhof, and mentioned two books on Tiegenhof she might consider purchasing to learn about the town’s history. One, written by Marek Opitz and Grzegorz Gola, is simply entitled “Tiegenhof/Nowy Dwor Gdanski”; the second, authored by Gunter Jeglin, is entitled “Tiegenhof und der Kreis Grosses Werder in Bildern.”
I explained to Lori that in the course of doing my own research, I had written to many people whose names and addresses I found in the membership index of the “Tiegenhofer Nachrichten.” I told her about Mr. Hans Erich Mueller, the elderly German gentleman who’d grown up in Tiegenhof and identified the “Schlummermutter” by name, and suggested she might want to contact him. I also mentioned my father’s friend, Juergen “Peter” Lau, and how much he’d helped me. With these referrals, I naturally assumed I had done as much as I could for Lori.
Still, I couldn’t quite lay Lori’s query to rest, and continued to contemplate how else I might help. During my own investigations, Marek Opitz had passed along two Address/Telephone books for Tiegenhof, an Address Book from 1910 and a Phone Directory from 1943. I checked both for listings of “Dargatz,” and, much to my surprise, discovered an individual by the name of “Rudolf Dargatz,” spelled with an “f” rather than a “ph” at the end of the given name in the 1943 Tiegenhof Phone Directory. (Figure 1) In her initial query to Marek, Lori had mentioned that her Rudolph Dargatz had been in the plant nursery (“gartnerei”) business and there was or still is a “Haus Dargatz.” The Rudolf Dargatz in the 1943 Directory was identified as being in the business of “Gartenbaubetrieb,” or horticulture. It was logical to assume these two individuals were related.
The 1943 Phone Directory included an address for this business at “Schlossgrund 18,” today known as “ulica 3 Maja.” From having visited Nowy Dwor Gdanski on several occasions, my recollection is that “Schlossgrund” is one of the former German streets remarkably well-preserved and along which it is easy to relocate remaining structures from the German period. Having also been given a map of Tiegenhof from former times, I passed this along to Lori so she could orient herself as to where her relative’s horticultural business had once been located. (Figure 2)
It occurred to me that since Rudolf Dargatz lived in Tiegenhof at least as late as 1943, perhaps my father’s now-94-year-old friend Peter Lau might remember him. So, I called him, and Peter, whose mind is still very sharp, immediately remembered Mr. Dargatz, recalling he had been in the flower business, and remembering that his shop had been located along Schlossgrund. But, the reason why Peter had such a clear recollection of Mr. Dargatz is mildly amusing, namely, because he had a crush on his daughter, Liselotte! I think both Lori and I found it particularly intriguing that someone is still alive today who had known one of her Dargatz relatives.
Over the coming days, I continued to think back to my visits to Nowy Dwor Gdanski. I remembered that during our last visit there, my wife and I had spent the better part of a day walking the entire central part of the town taking photographs of all the remaining German-era structures. Comparing my pictures to ones I found in the two aforementioned books showing the “Haus Dargatz,” I quickly realized the structure still existed and that I had photographed and identified it (Figure 3); I immediately forwarded it to Lori telling her I clearly remembered that on one of two occasions when I walked by this house a woman was cleaning the windows of her apartment. I’m still not sure why this memory remains in my head.
Readers will recall from one of my earlier Blog posts a database brought to my attention by a German archivist, of births, marriages, and deaths of individuals from the former Eastern Prussian Provinces, entitled: Östliche preußische Provinzen, Polen, Personenstandsregister 1874-1945 (Eastern Prussian Provinces, Germany [Poland], Selected Civil Vitals, 1874-1945). Typing in “Dargatz” in the “search” query, I came up with 140 records with people by this name, two of which ultimately fit into Lori’s Dargatz family tree. Both related to an individual by the name of “Rudolph Wilhelm Dargatz,” who, coincidentally, happened to be one of the sons of the Rudolph Wilhelm Ludwig Dargatz Lori had initially asked the Muzeum Zulawskie about.
Readers may remember yet another Blog post in which I discussed what I’d learned about my father’s once-good friend, Hans “Mochum” Wagner, and the photo of him in his German military uniform given to me by a Ms. Beate Lohff, nee Schlenger. To remind readers, Beate is the grand-daughter of Alfred and Hedwig Schlenger, owners of Tiegenhof’s “Dampfmahlmuhle,” or steam-operated flour mill. Beate gave me a copy of her grandmother’s 12-page diary, written in German, covering Hedwig’s escape from Tiegenhof with her mother and younger son, as the Russians were closing in towards the end of WWII. I recently had this translated into English, and this diary provides a fascinating glimpse into the period from the perspective of Germans then forced to flee westward the advancing enemy they’d mercilessly persecuted on their way east. However, apparently, not all Prussian families chose to leave Tiegenhof, as noted in one of Hedwig Schlenger’s entry in April 1945, and Hedwig specifically mentions, among the families that chose to stay, the Dargatz family, parenthetically adding that no one knows what happened to these families. It may yet be that the ultimate fate of Lori’s Dargatz relatives may be uncovered but inasmuch as my own research is concerned, this is as far as I can take things.
My father, Dr. Otto Bruck, was a witness to the rise of National Socialism from the window of his dental office in Tiegenhof, located at Markstrasse 8, later renamed “Adolf Hitler Strasse 8.” Readers will recall my father’s 1934 picture of the office building where be lived and worked, festooned with Nazi bunting and flagging. (Figure 1) But, already, the previous year, specifically, on May 1, 1933, my father photographed a regiment of “Brownshirts,” marching down Schlosserstrasse, carrying Nazi flags, framed by the “Kreishaus” (courthouse) on one side, the previously discussed Dutch-style timbered home on the other, and buildings draped with Nazi flags. (Figure 2)
Again, a year later to the day, on May 1, 1934, my father documented a parade of veterans and Brownshirts following the same path down Schlosserstrasse led by Stahlhelm (“Steel Helmet”) members, a veterans organization that arose after the German defeat of WWI. It was eventually in 1934 that members of the Stahlhelm were incorporated into the Sturmabteilung or “SA,” the original paramilitary wing of the Nazi Party. Interestingly, the march this particular year had an almost “festive” atmosphere to it as a carriage with an oversized Stobbe Machandel bottle was paraded down the street; Machandel or elderberry whiskey was originally produced in Tiegenhof by the firm of Peter Stobbe. (Figure 3)
The following year, on April 5, 1935, Field Marshall Hermann Göring visited and participated in the march through Tiegenhof. (Figure 4) Once again, my father was a witness to a historic event that ultimately would lead to a cataclysmic genocide. The day prior, on April 4, 1935, Hermann Göring had visited Danzig in an attempt to influence the April 7th parliamentary elections in favor of Nazi candidates. The visit to Tiegenhof the next day was merely an extension of this campaign to influence the Free State’s parliamentary elections. In the photos that my father took on April 5th there can be seen a banner which in German reads “Danzig ist Deutsch wenn es nationalsozialistisch ist,” translated as “Danzig is German when it is National Socialist.” It appears that along with everyday citizens of Tiegenhof and surrounding communities, members of the Hitler Youth, known in German as Hitler-Jugend, also lined the street in large number. (Figure 5)
Throughout his life, my father, Otto Bruck, was an active sportsman, with his greatest passion being tennis. He played actively as a youth in Ratibor, and, after moving to Berlin, to begin his dental studies, he joined the “E. V. B. Schwarz-Weiss” tennis club in Berlin-Schoeneberg (a future Blog post will deal with an interesting piece of tennis memorabilia my father saved from his time as a member of this club). After receiving his dental diploma in 1930, my father moved to Danzig where he apprenticed as a dentist in Danzig and a few other places in the Free State of Danzig. Finally, in April 1932, my father moved to Tiegenhof to establish his own dental practice. Throughout this period, until his departure from Tiegenhof in mid-1937, my father played tennis competitively. My father’s remaining personal effects include newspaper clippings and trophies attesting to his accomplishments on the tennis court.
By November 1932, my father had applied for and met the physical qualifications for acceptance to the “V.F.B. Tiegenhof, Baltischer Sportverband (Baltic Sports Federation).” (Figure 1) It appears the members socialized, recreated, and met regularly at a place called the “Club Ruschau” in Petershagen (today: Zelichowo, Poland), just outside Tiegenhof (today: Nowy Dwor Gdanski, Poland); my father took numerous photos there. (Figures 2, 3) Judging from the pictures, it was located along the Tiege River (today: Tuga).
Since I can personally attest to the fact that many buildings from the German period still exist today in Nowy Dwor Gdanski, one day I asked Marek Opitz, Director of the “Muzeum Zulawskie” and President of the “Klub Nowodworski,” whether he knew about the Club Ruschau and the buildings that once formed the Club. Whereas Marek knew what purpose and which buildings remained from the German period, until he examined my father’s photos of the Club Ruschau, he had not known of its existence. It was logical to conclude, given the widespread destruction that was wrought on Tiegenhof and Petershagen towards the end of WWII, that all remaining traces of the Club Ruschau had been erased. Therefore, I expected nothing more to come from this avenue of investigation.
Several weeks passed, when much to my surprise, Marek contacted me to tell me he had re-located one of the buildings that had comprised the Club Ruschau, now privately-owned; he included aerial and ground-level pictures of the property and structure as it appears today, and sure-enough, its location was along the Tiege River. Marek indicated his intention to take my wife and me to visit the location during our upcoming visit. And, indeed, in May 2012, Marek arranged with the current property-owner to give us a tour of the structure and land that had once made up the Club Ruschau. Given all the time my father spent here, augmented by the fact that my father’s days in Tiegenhof were unquestionably the happiest in his life, it thrilled me beyond measure to walk, if only for a short time, in the same place he’d trodden and enter the same door and touch the same doorknob he’d handled 75 years earlier. (Figure 4) This was literally like traveling by time-machine.
Members of the Club Ruschau included some of my father’s closest network of friends, specifically, the President, Dr. Schumanski, and Vice-President, Dr. H. Holst, as well as companions recognizable in various photos as Herbert Kloss and Kastret Romanowski. (Figure 5) Again, using the membership list in the “Tiegenhofer Nachrichten,” I attempted to contact people with similar surnames, but, unlike the success I garnered with descendants of Idschi and Suse Epp, I have to date been unable to learn the fate of any of these people. Peter and Lolo Lau confirmed that Dr. Holst moved to Danzig from Tiegenhof, and was a teacher in Lolo’s gymnasium, high school. Given the political realities of the 1930’s and what little my father told me about his social circle of friends from Tiegenhof, it is safe to assume that those friends that were not themselves Jewish gradually or abruptly distanced themselves from my father in the interest of self-preservation.
