Rebuilding history?

The cities of Gdansk and Kaliningrad (both former members of the Hanseatic League) were each re-built differently after the Second World War. Gdansk, now again part of Poland, has a beautifully restored old inner-city tourist area. Eighty-one Septembers ago, the Nazis had claimed the port city for themselves, called it Danzig and left it largely intact. Not until later, in 1944 and 1945, as Germans civilians fled to the harbour city to get on ships to avoid the advancing Soviet Army,was the city crushed by Soviet bombs. 

Last September I was in Gdansk, Poland finishing up a cycling trip. I’d biked in four countries and through some intense family history. The books I’ve read, both pre, and post trip, continue to enhance my appreciation of these lands. 

It was also interesting to view Lech Walesa’s shipyard office—the beginning of the end for the Soviet communism. Gdansk—a place of beginnings and ends.

A few days earlier, I’d been guided through Kaliningrad, once Königsberg. It was also destroyed by the Allies in 1944/45. When the former East Prussia was divided up after the war, Konigsberg stayed under Soviet control, and renamed Kaliningrad in honour of a Soviet hero. Because the local population was expelled, there was no effort to showcase or remember any of its history. It wasn’t until the 1990s that efforts began to rebuild the massive cathedral and even honour Immanuel Kant a German philosopher. Once quite revered by the Soviets, he's now causing irritation. Reminds me of our own changing views of history here in Canada.

Our yesterdays are complicated. We can try to erase the past by pulling down monuments, buildings, or renaming cities. It will continue to haunt our present. Educating ourselves is key to awareness, acceptance and finally, action.

Old stuff. So many stories. I was struck by how proud the guides were of both their cities and their complicated histories.

A Tale of Two Frankfurts

One place that’s confused me during my research into my parents’ history is the town of Frankfurt. It served as the eye of the needle for all returning German prisoners of war as they left their Soviet labour camps and headed back home. Turns out there are two Frankfurts. Both defined by their rivers. 

Frankfurt am Main has the Main River, a tributary of the Rhine, flowing through it. The city might be best known for its busy airport. 

Frankfurt an der Oder is on the Oder River which, for 187 km. forms the border between Poland and Germany.  The Oder river divides Frankfurt an der Oder (Germany) from Slubice (Poland).  It’s a quiet place now, but back in the late forties and early fifties it was a hub of activity.

Returning POWs first stop in Frankfurt (Oder) was the Hornkaserne run by the Soviet NKVD (until 1947). Here they were given new clothes, toiletries and a chance to clean up so they would look presentable for the 3 km walk to Gronenfelde barracks run by a German administration. In Gronenfelde they were divided into destinations and sent further on to their homes. 

It was a thrill for me, last year, to travel through both Frankfurts and to appreciate the history of Frankfurt (Oder). On the train from Gdansk to Berlin, we crossed the Oder River. I was surprised at how wide it was and how green its banks.  I couldn’t help but imagine each of my parents crossing that same river—Mom in the summer of 1947, and Dad in November, 1949. They were not yet aware that their separate journeys would eventually become one journey, together, to Canada.

Luftwaffe Graduates

 

Here’s a story. In this photograph, my dad (second from the right in the second row) has graduated from Luftwaffe pilot training school. It’s 1936. He’s eighteen . . . and he’s flying high. 

Aren’t we all just a collection of stories? You get enough stories and you have a book (and a life)!

In Defense of Physical Books

 

 

I was casually putting away some books, absentmindedly rearranging others on my shelf, when it struck me how I see my books as an extension of myself. I’ve got books exploring the past, helping me problem-solve current issues and books letting me dream. I’ve used books to escape, to self-isolate (with or without pandemic) and to connect.  

So I notice these three books and I think, yup, that’s the history part of me summed up in three books.  The Germans from Russia, the photo book of East Prussia and a book listing the refugees who streamed into Canada with the support of one particular church organization after the Second World War. Of course, my history collection is incomplete. One book always makes me hungry for another book. 

 

So even though I’m wanting to purge and declutter, my books and most of my rocks must stay. Let me keep the stories, the rest is just stuff.

Sandcastle Anyone?

Now available: Abandoned sandcastle. New inhabitants needed

to maintain this scenic lakeside property. Some repairs required,

but has endless possibilities. 

Full disclosure: Prone to flooding and intrusive human footsteps. 

Fairies only need inquire. No royal lineage required. 

Price: A good imagination. 

 

Inside July

Not a breath of wind in the garden today. It’s like July doesn’t want to leave and I want to stay with it, cocooned in its heat, its light and its growth. Like a bird in its nest, I want to stay inside July. For at least this one last day. 

Prairie Trails

Probably because of the pandemic, one of my favourite Manitoba places—Hecla Island—was terribly overcrowded when I visited two weeks ago. I’d never seen it so busy. At least twenty vehicles were lined up to pull their boats out of the water when storm clouds threatened. Nature seemed second place to all us humans trying to socially distance ourselves. Oh, the irony.

So, the following weekend I headed in the opposite direction. We went south to the Tolstoi area and hung out with hordes of wood ticks enjoying the Manitoba Tall Grass Prairie Preserve. The dog wore a tick collar, but I had no such protection. Anyway, we survived both the ticks and the heat and discovered some interesting blooms, including an endangered orchid—the yellow lady’s slipper.

Also interesting, was the town of Tolstoi (Why was it named after a Russian author? I don't know, but I like it!). Its Ukrainian church, built in 1927, has been beautifully restored. With the landscape and the church, I could imagine being in Ukraine and not rural Manitoba. It had bothered me, while visiting Ukraine, to see their beautifully restored churches amidst such abject poverty. Here in rural Manitoba, there were no babushkas sweeping the steps, hoping for a few alms. I wonder if they’re still sweeping entranceways in Ukraine and Russia? 

Further up the road, we crossed the fast-moving Roseau River using an historic swinging bridge partially made of old farming equipment. When we visited, swimmers using rubber mats and kayaks were enjoying the cooling currents. 

Always great to find new corners of Manitoba while exploring history and nature.