July 18

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A letter from Helene in Vienna to her nephew Paul Zerzawy in San Francisco:

Vienna, 18 July 1941

Dear Paul! I took stock of things today, but it’s pretty sad. I have written 48 letters to the children since the beginning of the year, but I have received only 10. It is 4 dozen letters: 1) I have not included letters of a different date when they were sent on the same day but in one envelope, 2) letters to you, Hilda, the Zentners, the Schillers, etc. when they were sent to your separate addresses. As you see, my writing business is passive and it must bring up feelings in you about 1870. I am turning to you therefore because I am looking for some sort of resolution. The problem is as you see not coming from me. Of the 10 letters I’ve gotten from the children, the first 7 came closed and they appeared regularly in the first 7 weeks of the year. The other 3 appeared in intervals of 3 months. Since the last 2 were filled with matters of our emigration and made up for the prospect of not getting any mail, we were able to endure this unpleasant situation rather more easily. But since this hope turned out to be fallacious, the lack of letters is appearing twice as painful to me at this point. Do you think that fate has let itself play a bad trick on us? Why? We were so close to getting our goal in life, our happiness and our bliss, come to fruition. We have heard that the children can obtain something in Washington to cause the embassy in Berlin to give us an exit visa. At some point the documents would have to be deposited and this does seem plausible and I don’t think it’s “Bonkes” (a technical term for non-Aryan fairy tales). Please take steps to make sure this happens. It is very very urgent and please let us know if you can’t, where we can turn. About 100 people did get permission to emigrate to Cuba but as we’ve already written, we decided to refrain from such a request because there are new kinds of bother and annoyance with us and apparently doing this requires putting up a certain sum for a deposit. But perhaps you know more about these possibilities over there than the religious community here does. Please Paul, could you take an interest in this and get us some news?

I hope that you are all doing well and I request that you send my best greetings to everybody. Hugging you and greeting you in the best way I can.

Helen

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Their July 15 departure date has come and gone and Helene and Vitali are back at the drawing board. They have given up their business and gotten rid of most of their possessions. Having culled to the bare necessities they could take in the few kilos of luggage they were allowed to take on their journey, they now have very few clothes and resources left. They find themselves right back where they began their efforts to emigrate two years earlier. But the paperwork and bureaucracy are virtually insurmountable at this point. There are rumors of ways to expedite the process and Helene places her confidence in her nephew to make it happen. As I read through all the letters, I think about how this responsibility must have weighed on Paul. Although he had been a successful attorney in Europe, in the U.S. he has no resources, credentials, and few language skills to tackle these virtually impossible obstacles. He must have felt helpless and a failure — wanting so much to help his beloved aunt and her husband escape, but being unable to do so.

Helene mentions 1870 as a memorable year for Paul and perhaps herself. Neither had been born yet. Since she is writing this letter on July 18 from Austria which has been annexed by Germany, she is probably referring to a momentous date in European history: Napoleon III declared war on Prussia on July 19, beginning the the Franco-Prussian War. Germany won the war in 1871 and emerged far more powerful. (The only other events I could find that might have been of interest to them both: the concert hall in Vienna that housed the Vienna Philharmonic opened in January and Charles Dickens died in June. In terms of dates of personal importance, Paul Zerzawy’s father Julius was born on September 9, 1870.)

July 17

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Today we have another Red Cross postcard from Helene’s nephew, POW Erich Zerzawy in eastern Siberia, to his siblings in Brüx, Bohemia. We had trouble deciphering one sentence so it’s incomplete.

Beresowka 19/VII 17.

 My dear ones!

Today it is possible for me, Erich, to write to you more or less in confidence. A comrade is taking this with him when he reports to work. I am fine as I already wrote you yesterday. …Kättl… and I have not written back to her yet, but I will do that.

Sincere greetings and kisses from
Erich

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When Roslyn translated the first sentence of this card, I thought we would learn something more about Erich’s situation since he could write “in confidence.” However, he is no more informative than in any of his other letters. Was he out of the habit? Did he run out of room? Did he not want to worry his family? Given the censorship stamp, perhaps after that first line he realized that it would be sent the same way as all the others.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, it amazes me that Erich’s cards got to their destination - he never includes a street address. Brüx (now Most) wasn’t a big city, but it had more than 20,000 inhabitants! According to the JewishGen Communities Database, in 1910 there were about 870 Jews living there. This reminds me of one of Helene’s letters to her children from Istanbul in 1946 (see March 4 post). Having had no contact with them in more than three years, she had no current address and sent many letters to places Eva and Harry no longer lived. The letters went undelivered and were ultimately returned. It had been her experience that a letter sent to a city would ultimately find its way to the proper recipient. In another letter, Helene marveled that a letter sent to Vitali in Vienna with no street address arrived at the destination — Vienna had a population of almost 2 million at that time. Not surprisingly then, Helene was unimpressed by the American postal service.

July 14

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Today’s postcard from soldier Erich Zerzawy is the only one I have before he was captured and was sent as a prisoner of war to Siberia. The postmark gives us no information about where he was serving.

Address:
Zerzawy Siblings
Brüx
Bohemia

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14. July.16.

My dear ones!

My card today is written in the presence of the enemy. We have been in the position since last night. I am doing great. The excitement and familiarity are a thing of the past. It’s a strange feeling to be in the position, but for me there’s also pride and confidence. I’ll try to write to you every day so you won’t worry. One thing I am glad about is that now I will get news from you again. Greet all those who ask about me and my best to you. Sincere kisses

Erich

July 8

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Today we see three letters from POW Erich Zerzawy in Siberia to his family:

Sender: E. F. Gfrt Row 200/74.
Erich Zerzawy
Beresowka
Eastern Siberia

Address:
Zerzawy siblings
Brüx
Bohemia

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8/VII.17

My dear ones!

I was happy to get your cards, one from 20/IV and even another from 4/XII. I am very happy that you are well. Praise God of course. I hope all is well with you in all aspects of life. What do you think of the new political party? Are you satisfied? As far as I am concerned, there is nothing to worry about. I am fine and the first 50 [rubles?] which I finally received will be very useful for supplies and such. It is one of the two sent by Spassker [?] — I’m not sure which one it is. I reclaimed Papa’s #51205. I am curious as to which it is. It’s raining now and it has been for 48 hours without a break. That’s an odd occurrence.

Your Erich would love to write more, but he can’t.

Written along the side edge:
Sincere greetings to all of you from me.

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Address: Miss Helene Löwy
Vienna I
Salzgries 10

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Beresowka 9./VII.17.

Dear Helene!

It’s not at all nice the way you just ignore me! I haven’t gotten a single line from you. You didn’t even write once from Brüx which was more an etc. You’ll have a lot to make up. Nothing has changed between us and it’s because of you. And that I am still the old one, you should recognize that I am inconsolable that the field post package from you that was sent back should have arrived a bit earlier. Or at least Mr Morkale could have waited awhile. Sincere greetings and kisses from
Erich

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To: Mr Robert Zerzawy
Brüx
Bohemia

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B’ka  29/VII.17. 

Dear Robert!

By chance I got together with your dear brother, which made both him and me extremely happy. I found out that you are happy and well. Erich looks good and since I haven’t seen him for awhile, he has grown. I hope you are healthy and doing well, as is the case for me.
Greetings from your pal.

E. Ledlauken [?]

So you see that I am here too,
Erich

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A few thoughts:

In the July 8 letter to his siblings, Erich is chatty and talks about current events. He assures everyone that they shouldn’t worry about him.

In a card he writes a day later to his aunt Helene, he is playful and teasing about letters and packages that haven’t arrived — showing us that Helene’s letters to her nephews were likely as full of fun and affection as were her later letters to her children. Of the three Zerzawy brothers, Erich seems to have had a sense of humor closest to hers. Paul’s letters were mostly very straightforward and businesslike and Robert’s were loving, emotional, and kind. When I originally saw this postcard, it was the first time I thought of my grandmother’s life as a young woman, even though she didn’t marry until she was in her 30s. I had a sense of her childhood in Bilin from the stories she wrote; I had a sense of her as a wife and mother from her letters and my own mother’s stories about her childhood. But here was evidence of my grandmother as a single woman in Vienna, along with an unfamiliar address in Vienna. We saw another letter to Helene in the January 28 post — a letter from 1918 from her nephew Paul Zerzawy.

It continues to amaze me that in wartime soldiers, and even POWs, received packages from home. Although, clearly many of the packages never made it to their destination, or were not as full as when they were sent. It’s also impressive that mail from POWs arrived when addressed with so little information — Erich’s letters home to Brux to his family merely give the town and the last name. According to Wikipedia, the city had a population of about 50,000 in 1920.

Finally, the card sent from later in the month shows us what a small world it was, even in far-flung Siberia. A friend of Erich’s brother Robert finds himself in the same place.

June 30

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Today we have a picture postcard in German and English from (and of) Helene’s nephew Robert Zerzawy with a note in pencil that it was received on June 30, 1963.

This is not Mr. Dean Rusk; rather, it is your nephew on one of his missions to Germany. Touchwood, I have a little slimmed since then. 

Love, Robert

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A few comments:

The photo credit is by the airline – perhaps they took photos like they do these days on cruises and Disneyland rides?

The photo at Wikipedia entry for Dean Rusk does indeed show a resemblance.

In the 1960s, Robert worked for Bayer. Presumably this photo was taken on a business trip to Germany as he was preparing for the opening of the London sales office:

When I began this project, I thought of brothers Paul and Robert Zerzawy as distant cousins who were tangentially related to my family’s story. As we have seen, Paul was a major presence in my grandmother’s and her children’s lives. Robert is also important, but I have far less evidence. In March, we saw a few letters from him from the 1960s as well as a few letters to him from Helene from 1945-1046 in Istanbul – he appears to be the first relative she was able to reach. Helene mentions his sensitive nature and how life might be particularly difficult for him. In Robert’s letters he mentions emotions, while letters from his brother Paul, who was trained as an attorney, are usually all business – as a soldier in World War I, trying to make sure that family members at home have all they need and that Robert is taking care of business in his absence; and during World War II, emigrating and trying to help Helene, Vitali and their children emigrate as well. Although Robert also intended to emigrate from England to San Francisco during or after the war, for some reason that never happened, and he was separated from his family for the rest of his life.

Robert seems to have had a sensitive artist’s temperament. Although he tried to follow in Paul’s footsteps and study law, from the WWI letters it appears his heart wasn’t in it. Below is a photo of Robert that was probably taken during WWI that shows him sketching his grandmother while his sisters watch in the background. At this point his father and older brothers Robert and Erich are away at war (Erich probably in a POW camp in Siberia at this point), so young Robert was the man of the house. He had lost both his mother and step-mother by the time he was 11.

Below is a self-portrait Robert drew dated September 16, 1921, when he would have been 22 years old — a portrait of the artist as a young man.

June 16

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Apology to subscribers: For some reason the June 15 post got sent twice — once combined with the June 14 post and once on its own yesterday. Sorry for the repetition! I’d like to blame the technology but it’s probably me. Or it was my grandmother and the rest of the family wanting to make sure you all understand the importance of music to their lives!

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Today we see another Red Cross postcard from POW Erich Zerzawy in Siberia to his siblings in Brüx, Bohemia.

Monday 16 June 1917.

My dear ones!

I can’t tell you anything new. After all, nothing happens. I have only gotten mail from Paul from Gablanz [?]. I would have liked to write to him but the card was from April 19. Of course, there could be no answer card to send there. I hope he is doing well. I wish him the best in case he might have left. That’s right, only now do I know who Hedl’s husband is. Even though such knowledge does not serve me well, I still want to send a kiss of the hand to Mrs. Hedl. A thousand kisses to all of you.

Erich

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From Paul Zerzawy’s letters, we learned that as a soldier he often was not allowed to write to Erich directly. Paul had to make do with sending messages through his family members. I don’t know where Gablanz is, but found a town in Germany named Gablenz (also known as Jabłońc) which has an amazing bridge built in the 19th century.

As I read my family’s letters, when the letter provides more questions than answers I often find myself creating stories. That’s the case with this card from Paul’s brother Erich. In this letter, he mentions a woman named Hedl who has recently gotten married. Perhaps she was Erich’s girlfriend before the war. Another reminder of the disruption of war and how easily one’s hopes and dreams can be dashed and the world turned upside down. At this point, Erich is just 19 years old, has been a POW in Siberia for at least 6 months, and will not survive the war. Despite his situation, his letters home are always sweet and positive, trying not to cause more worry than necessary to his family.

June 14

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Tennis

My mother loved playing tennis. When I was young, she tried in vain to get me excited about the game, having me take tennis lessons at the courts in Golden Gate Park. She became a regular there, playing every week and making many friends.

About 20 years ago I was in England and went to Hampton Court. There, I was surprised to learn that Henry the VIII loved tennis and saw the court he played on.

According to Wikipedia the rules of modern tennis were created in England in the late 19th Century. In looking through family photos, I see that family members enjoyed the game dating at least to the early 20th century, so they were playing a relatively “new” game.

The above photo was probably taken in 1908 or earlier. There is a note on the back mentioning Robert Zerzawy. I think he is the young boy in the cap holding the ball and facing the camera. The photo of the four children below would be siblings Paul, Erich, Klara, and Robert. Likely taken in or near Brüx in Bohemia (German name for Most in the Czech Republic).

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 Probably 1937 or 1938 – Eva and Harry playing doubles in Vienna:

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1938 – Paul Zerzawy notes the date of June 16, 1938 on the back and that it was taken at the Gartenbauplätz in Vienna. A friend named Walter Reif is hitting the ball in the foreground. The only reference I could find to Gartenbauplätz was about it being the site for ice hockey tournaments in the early 1930s.

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1941 – Mission High School in San Francisco – we saw this photo of Eva and Harry from February of 1941 in a previous post.

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Probably the late 1970s – Golden Gate Park Tennis Club at a Halloween event. Eva taking a cigarette break, dressed as a gypsy. My mother “made” similar costumes for me once or twice for Halloween. I always thought she did that because it was a cheap and easy way to dress up, but more recently I’ve wondered whether it was a silent nod to her father the palm reader.

June 2

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Today we see another letter from Erich Zerzawy. He has been a POW in Eastern Siberia for at least a year. He is writing to his younger siblings in Brüx, Bohemia. His father and brother Paul are away from home serving in the army. You can see Russian and Austrian censorship stamps on the address side of the card.

3. June 1917

My dear ones!

Lately I have received cards only from dear Kätherl. Only one from Papa. I have missed Robert’s cards and especially his letters which seem to be sent more quickly than the cards. I hope Robert is still doing well at home, although I wish with all my heart that he could become a soldier. I wish to God that he could have better luck than I did. I am fine and I am glad you also seem to be healthy. With many thousands of kisses to all

Your Erich

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Given his own experience, it is interesting that Erich talks about how he wishes his 17-year old brother Robert can become a soldier. Was that to please the censors?

You can read more about Erich in posts from January 8, February 12, and May 13.

May 31

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Today we have excerpts from a story Helene wrote about her childhood in Bilin during the late 1890s.

Below is the first page of 2 different drafts:

Potter and Poet to Boot

It was always a real treat to me when – on a school free day – I was invited to accompany my father on a business-trip by coach, railway or on Shank’s pony [on foot]. It was on such occasional trips that I found out what a wonderful teacher and companion my father was. Those were the opportunities where I let him into my world of thoughts and interests.

My dream, my passionate desire was to travel, see foreign people and go to lands of exotic plants and animals. I thought father would laugh at my crazy ideas when I talked to him about my day-dreams but he didn’t. On the contrary, he said very seriously: “Remember, you can realize all your wishes by sticking to them and wishing them and concentrate your thought on it intensely. Some people call that ‘prayer’. Prayers are intense wishes.”

In that sense I must have prayed a lot because many of my wishes came true. What I learned on those rare rides on Shank’s mare, I attribute to father’s unexcelled skill of making even the seemingly dullest things palatable. “Keep your eyes open, nothing is uninteresting.”

The Biela-Zeitung, named after the river which flows through the little town, was more my father’s hobby and mouthpiece to express his opinions publicly than it was a profitable enterprise to provide for a family of ten. To make up for the deficit of his weekly paper and to keep his printing presses going, he visited industrial concerns and successful business people to gather orders for printing jobs.

One day, smiling as usual but with a special strain of amusement around his sunny eyes and mouth, father invited me: “How about a short study-trip to Dux?”

This town was the center of one of the most important coal-basins of North-Bohemia, the ugliest place one could imagine. Even now, after about fifty years, I remember with disgust that smoky and stinking place, as the most depressing place, save the Kazet (Concentration camp Ravensbrück).

Father observed my hesitation and without taking offence, said:

“I can't blame you for not being overjoyed to escort me to this place, but we will not stay there long. Some other day I will show you that even Dux has interesting points. In order to be there in time, we have to take an early train. At the station there will be an Einspänner [horse-drawn wagon] to bring us to an interesting pottery-factory. I know you will get a real kick out of this trip - otherwise I wouldn’t have tried to persuade you to keep me company.”

We took a so-called “mixed-train” consisting of about forty coal cars and only two passenger cars. The long train, which had the appearance of a giant caterpillar, stopped when the two passenger cars arrived in front of the station building. The third-class contingent – mostly women with big baskets and father and me – pushed against one another to obtain a seat. The wagon was crammed full. Some people who did not have eggs in their baskets used them for seats; many were standing, sardine-like.

Outside the station building waited a worn-out coach whose lacquered wheels were once red, attached to a mare which looked just as worn out. The coachman, likewise an old veteran with a belligerent mustache and a ruddy face, was inside the railway station waiting for passengers. When he recognized my father he saluted respectfully, not hiding his pleasure to have him for a fare. Apparently, he liked the editor of the Biela-Zeitung, who would bring him cigars and a lump of sugar for the mare; both accepted the thoughtfulness with an individual neigh. The coachman lifted me like a piece of luggage into the Einspänner, throwing over my knees a horse-perfumed blanket. Father called out his destination and immediately the coachman started to give father a detailed report of the events of the past week as far as he thought they would be of interest to the newspaperman. Endowed with a retentive memory, he made only a few notes of names, time and place with his pencil on his stiff cuffs, following with interest the report of his correspondent whose insight, sense of justice, and horse-sense he highly appreciated.

Father, knowing that the driver wasn’t listening as he was only interested in the bad road and his old mare, said: “Believe it or not, his reports are more competent than that of a professional reporter. He is a very keen observer and what he told me are facts and not gossip.”

Father prepared me for what I was going to see. Three brothers had inherited the pottery factory from their father as he had from his father. The oldest of the three owners, a very ambitious and industrious fellow, opened foreign markets for their products and in those days the factory was one of the biggest in the field. The second brother was the “artistic” manager and brain of that enterprise, making all designs himself.

The latest brainchild of the “artist” was a phosphorescent chamber pot. The youngest of the brothers was the office manager and was, as father called him, “Potter and Poet to boot”, after Hans Sachs’s exquisite self-persiflage: “Schuster and Poet dazu” – Shoemaker and Poet to boot, in Richard Wagner’s unexcelled comic-opera: “Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg”.

The day before our excursion to the pottery factory, father had received a request for the price for illustrated catalogues in three languages. A big job for our voracious printing enterprise. Father had not the slightest idea that the “poet” had something else up in his sleeve. While his artistic brother showed me all the vases, plates, saucers and cups and other objects of art, including a pot de chambre en miniature, the poet used the absence of his brother to tell my that he had written a book of poetry and that he wanted to have it printed: “Published by the author.” Father did not give himself away by saying: “That would be the only possibility.”

Father said to me, “Your brother Max – who usually is not over-interested in my business-affairs – will be amused this time about a private order with which the ‘poet’ honored me. I wouldn’t be surprised if my son would busy himself with composing some tunes for the poems to enlarge his guitar-repertoire.”

“What do you mean by ‘private order’? Didn’t you tell me they wanted to have catalogues printed?”

“That is correct, but while you were studying ceramics, he authorized me to print his ‘collected works’”.

“Let me see, please”, I begged.

“Sorry, editorial secret.”

“Am I not a member of the editorial staff?”

“You most certainly are, but I wish to surprise the family; besides you, only your mother and Ida belong to the staff.”

“I think it is not fair to keep me, your faithful apprentice and travelling companion, on tenterhooks.”

“I agree with you entirely and apologize. You are entitled to the first print on vellum-paper to start your own collection of classics.”

We returned home with the order. After dinner father recited at random one of the “poet’s” numerous poems.

“Ei, wie das funkelt und wie das blitzt,
Wenn Ross und reiter zu Pferde sitzt.”

“What a sight! And how exciting
To see horse and rider on horse-back riding.”

A Homeric laughter broke loose. My brother jumped to the piano just as father foresaw, wishing to have a similar brainstorm in composing a melody appropriate to the poem, the fantastic Pegasus-ride as well as the artistic pot de chambre.

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Now that I know so much more about Helene, I appreciate many different aspects of this story. When I first read it a few years ago, I had not had her letters translated. Nor had I seen early issues of the Biela-Zeitung. In my grandmother’s letter seen in the February 6 post, we saw another example of the potter’s poetry.

Helene respected, idolized and loved her father. He encouraged her curiosity and dreams, and taught and motivated her to be a better human being.

“Die Meistersinger” was my grandmother’s favorite opera - my mother Eva was named after the heroine.

In the above story, Helene’s father invites her on a “study trip to Dux,” a town she dislikes. In at least the early editions of the Biela-Zeitung, Adolf Löwy had a regular column entitled “Walks Around Dux.” I wonder whether she was alluding to that column as she told this story. Earlier this year, I looked through several issues of the Biela-Zeitung with my friend and translator. I was surprised to find that the column was not a light-hearted look at the events and sights of Dux, but that the articles touched on the corruption and wrong-doing in the town.

“Walks Around Dux” column from June 23, 1877 edition of the Biela-Zeitung.

The article begins:

….If you should happen to believe because of the events here that we live in a civilized state, that we live in a century in which in different places they sometimes call the “Century of Intelligence,” here we cannot really claim that because what seems to be happening recently here has a rather crude and bitter aftertaste of the lovely time of rule by force. There is very little that is honorable in our city and it is a very unfortunate sign of the level of culture of a peace-loving people in the street are attacked in a dastardly fashion by hired henchmen. …

May 25

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Yesterday we read a story about the household geese. Today we learn about other livestock, ducks.

Marischka appears in many of my grandmother’s stories. She seemed to be much more than a maid, taking care of the family, house, garden, and animals. In the stories, she appears as a sort of Mary Poppins in young Helene’s eyes – someone who was always there to keep her safe and make magical things happen. While her parents and older siblings were occupied with work and school, Marischka was Helene’s primary companion. That meant too that Helene knew more of the maid’s private life than the rest of the family since Marischka seems to have taken every opportunity to meet her boyfriend Franticek, often using the children as cover.

Sometimes the names in the stories get confusing, because the girls in the family had their given name and at least one nickname, and often Helene uses them interchangeably. Ida, the eldest, apparently did not have a nickname. She was 17 when Helene was born so was more of a parental figure than a sibling. Next came Mathilde/Mattl, Clara, Flora/Florly, Irma/Hummel, and Helene/Enene. Only son Max seems to have always been known as Max.

Below is a photo of the first page of the story – Helene did not use a stapler or paper clip, instead tying the story together with red string looped through the binder holes. So resourceful! Perhaps something she learned in her father’s print shop. In the story below, we learn about how the household found uses for everything. For example, Helene’s uncle Carl’s coffee import and bags came in handy for foraging.

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Child Without Childhood (Ch V)
Life With Our Ducklings

Mother told me to gather Brennessel – nettles – as soon as Irma came home from school. She handed me two pairs of old gloves, warning me not to touch the nettles with bare hands because they cause small blisters which burn your hands as the name indicates. (Brennen means to burn).

“Are you sure, mummy, that the little ducks will not get burning blisters in their throat?”

“Quite sure. Nettles are candies to them!”

I was bursting with excitement to bring my sister Hummel the interesting news that we have pets. I couldn’t wait for her at home and excitedly I ran to her school. Together we rushed home only to deposit Irma’s school satchel into the kitchen and to ask Marischka for some paper bags or a basket. Equipped with these and our gauntlets we were off. With zeal we took over that important job to collect “candies” for our darlings, to which my sister had paid only a short visit before, ashamed to come without a gift. The little yellow spots walking on two legs were so beautiful and the thought that they belonged to both of us made us feel happy. From the window Marischka called that we didn’t need to walk far away. On the bank of the river Biela were the fattest nettles. Each morning Marischka spread fresh grass on the floor of our children’s “walking school” after she cleaned it up with fresh water. Fortunately, there was a faucet nearby, used to clean the lead type from the printer’s ink before they became “abgelegt” [filed]– terminus technicus [technical term] for returning the type to the compartments in the box where they belonged. 

To get the necessary grass for the next morning, Marischka took us out for a walk after dinner to which not even Ida objected, as it was spring. She took a big burlap bag which had still the brown stamp “Java” on it, where the coffee-beans uncle Carl sent to mother came from, and we walked, in the direction of Kutterschitz [now Chudeřice – about a mile from Bilin], for there was the highest and best grass, the spinach for our pets. While Irma and I plucked that “spinach” with zest and glowing cheeks, Marischka rested in the high grass from the task of the day. Franticek, with whom she made that appointment the night before, kept her company. My sister and I were too engrossed in our work to pay any attention to whatever was going on in our surroundings. After Marischka had rested enough, Franticek and she plucked ten times more than we had gathered in more than an hour.

Now I felt very tired and sleepy. Marischka put the burlap bag from Java over her back fastened with a cord, took me in her arms, and carried me home. Irma was tired too and wouldn’t have admitted it, but willingly she took Marischka’s hand. We must have looked a biblical picture like a stray group of mother and two children at the exodus of Egypt.

Ida reproached Marischka in her softspoken way for returning so late, but our maid lied pertly that she would have come home earlier, but the children enjoyed their occupation so much. Our glowing eyes and red cheeks proved her excuse to be true, but Ida nevertheless asked her to bring us home the latest at eight o’clock or if she wanted to stay longer, to leave us at home.

Our grown-up sisters showed their interest in the little ones once or twice a day. Once Mattl made a nice sketch with watercolors which Clara copied as a pattern and embroidered a white muslin apron for Ida, who was enraptured by it.

Pretty soon our sweet pets lost their brilliant yellow color. Although our love and care remained, we had to resign our proxy now that they were in puberty and we were declared as not competent anymore.

Our pets had outgrown their kindergarten and were transferred to that shed in which wood to kindle the fire in the stoves was stored. The floor became strewn with straw. Marischka cleaned the “walking school” from the grass, and washed the place thoroughly; all we were allowed to do for our ex-wards was to refill the vessel with fresh water and provide them with new candies, but the feeding methods changed; they got corn or barley. The door was barred with a crossbar which we were not allowed to open; we had to hand over the gathered nettles to our maid. Mother ordered that one of the apprentices cut an opening, a window so to speak, in their new apartment. Marischka found that the boys made too big a hole in the door and the little birds could become homesick for her kindergarten and nailed two small boards crosswise for security’s sake.

Hummel and I were pondering why we had been disqualified as their guardians. We thought our pets must have done something terrible to be imprisoned for life. We didn’t get a satisfactory answer what kind of crime they had committed.

Our adult ducks really led a dog’s life now. When Marischka had time in the afternoon, she drove the white birds with red shoes to the nearby bank of the Biela river and we looked with pleasure and pride at their acrobatic performances.

Gradually we lost interest in them and didn’t count the heads. We had not observed that the number of them was reduced by two after we had one Sunday roast duck. Father had refused a tender drumstick, saying that because of his new denture he would prefer potato soup. Since it was not ready, coffee would be enough because he wasn’t hungry. The rest of the family had not such sentimental stomachs and did not pay any attention. Mother put them on our menu when her husband was out of town, which happened frequently.

My sister Irma and I always handed over the candies for our pets. When we asked why we no longer took them out for a swim, Marischka said they had a cold.

May 24

Link to Family Tree to understand family relationships.

In yesterday’s letter, Helene referred to herself as a goose. Being a “silly goose” is something we commonly say in English, so the first time I read it I didn’t give it a thought. As I’ve delved more deeply into her letters this year, I noticed she used the word “goose” or “geese” several times. As with the literary and musical references reminding her children of their shared past, Helene was probably thinking back to her own childhood.  

In the 1950s, Helene’s son Harry bought her a typewriter and encouraged her to write down her memories. Most of what she wrote was about life as a child in Bilin. She organized it into chapters and at least two different “books”. She called the first book “Child Without Childhood”. Today we have excerpts from one of the stories in the book.

Helene was born in Bilin (now Bilina), a spa town of a few thousand people in Bohemia. As we’ve seen in previous posts, her father owned a bookstore/stationery store/print shop and published a weekly local newspaper. Helene felt stifled in Bilin, both by the antisemitism she encountered and by the lack of intellectual life. She fled to Vienna at the earliest opportunity.

What I hadn’t understood until reading her stories is that much of life in Bilin in the 1890s was closer to the 18th century than to the 20th. Families, particularly those without a lot of money and with a lot of children, had to be resourceful and creative in order to survive and live at all comfortably. Several chapters in “Child Without Childhood” were devoted to the geese that coexisted on the property with the print shop and bookstore. To young Helene, they were beloved pets; to the adults, they were a valuable source of food and feathers. This realization came as a shock to Helene when her pets’ lives were cut short.

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Child Without Childhood - Chapter III:  Federnschleissen

Federnschleissen - to strip quilts [quills/feathers] - was a special winter occupation, hated by the female staff of the household because that work required total silence while doing it. Talking, sneezing, coughing, even taking deep breaths was prohibited in order not to stir up the fine down.

We two children, Irma and I, welcomed it. It put us in a Christmas carol mood, gave us the feeling of some importance being included in taking part in such a serious job and we felt almost grown up. Out of necessity, the strict rules which had to be observed did not produce such a festival atmosphere among the adults.

We children observed that ordained ritual minutely, partly to show that we were mature enough to perform such an important task, partly for the hope that our good behavior and usefulness could have a favorable influence on the number of ornately wrapped and labeled gifts we would receive. …

The thoughts of the housemaid (at that time the wet-nurse of my brother ruled dictatorially the household, an office my sister Ida by no means begrudged, giving her the opportunity to assist father which she did with more relish) were wandering to her lover in the nearby casern or were feasting in the foretaste of the three-days lasting holidays and trysts with frantic mass-eating which generally ended with stomachaches and hangovers, but nobody was thinking of the end of the Merry-Christmas mood. The guesswork of what Christkindl (Santa Claus) made had in store for them, conjured a happy smile on the faces of everybody who was occupied in that brain-killing occupation.

According to incontestable and unwritten Bohemian law, the ritual of federnschleissen took place as soon as dishwashing was over and we children (my older sisters excused themselves with homework) voluntarily offered our assistance.

…The sewing machine, luggage, some baskets, and anything else was covered with oilcloth. We children were advised to visit the little girls room before the work started because later there would be no opportunity. Now the sunporch, half harem, half prison, was closed up for the duration of the quilt stripping ceremony.

The wall opposite the kitchen went towards the big backyard and similar to the kitchen, instead of windows, had a glass partition and only the upper part had a contraption to open some of the window panes. There, just opposite the kitchen, was a so called Legebank. A great bench which could change into a double bed. Inside were the bedclothes, pillows, blankets and mattresses for the help. In addition to being the working and ironing room, the sun porch was their bedroom too.

… Ida taught us how to make from the feathers brushes for basting meats, cookies or baking sheets. Irma got some blue strands and I some red ones to braid together the way Ida showed us. We both liked that occupation. It made us feel so grown-up, so important. Our industry and dexterity was lauded by the quilt-stripping company and we developed a real skill in manufacturing those highly appreciated kitchen items. Mattl joined us after she finished her homework and it was impossible to leave the room. The only exemption was when mother knocked at the window-pane when father wanted Ida’s assistance. When after mother’s unerring calculation the work must soon come to an end, she started to set the table in the kitchen so that we could watch with great pleasure for our well-deserved Kaffee Klatsch. The fine aroma of coffee and cake tickled our nostrils in a more agreeable manner and the bored miens of the adult occupants changed in the opposite. Ida sealed up the pillows by tight stitches. The windows were opened, the masquerade was at an end, our costumes were put into a laundry basket and covered so that not a single feather could escape during the transport into the backyard, to be slapped with Klopfer, a tennis racket like gadget of wicker. Mattl escorted us to a little windowless closet where she brushed our hair and supervised our hand cleaning. The oilcloth covers from the furniture were cautiously folded to be later shaken in the backyard. Not even Jules Verne had imagined the convenience of vacuum cleaners.

A checkered tablecloth was spread over the long table and the sun porch appeared in its usual shape.

Mother clasped her hands: “Coffee is on the table.” Within a few minutes the Federnschleissing  company was completely assembled for a feast of joy that lasted over two hours. Singing broke out with the vehemence of an eruption of a volcano. In father’s printing shop a few girls were sometimes needed to adjust printings, clean up the office and bookbinding rooms and other minor work. If they were not needed, father didn’t send them away for mother always had a use for them. One of them was the daughter of an Italian man who worked in a nearby Tagbau open pit mine. My father hired her because she was his only living child. Her mother passed away at childbirth and the widower moved to Bohemia on account of better pay! And the Italian worker found work easily at Tagbau, most of the mines had been burning for decades and the fire couldn’t be quenched, only choked up with earth. A murderous occupation and the Italian people from Sicily and Naples could stand working on the hot earth better than the people from our cold climate. That girl sang Neapolitan songs; Manko, my brother’s wet-nurse sang although she was born in middle-Bohemia where mostly the Czech language was used, sang German songs which sounded incomprehensible and we broke out in unison in hysterical laughter, which she accepted as applause. The prize-winner was of course Marischka with her ballads, and even Ida seemed amused by tunes and words, although she wouldn’t appreciate them if Max would include them in his repertoire.

My favorite ballad was the story of a crusader who said farewell to his sweetheart in the darkness of the night, resting on a bench in an arbor, hidden by wild vines, invisible to the eyes of a spy. That song had about thirty stanzas. If knight Ivan had behaved himself knightly, while sitting with his bride nightly I am not able to say, only that my sisters got a lot of fun out of it and my brother asked me secretly to write them down in a diary he gave me, to surprise our oldest sister and giver her pleasure. That masterpiece of German song Marischka always chose as her leitmotif for ironing, probably on account of its length. When through with the melodrama, a whole week’s laundry for the entire family was done. Sometimes she had to insert intermissions to change the cool of a flat iron to a red-hot one and when it was too hot, she made some rhythmically swinging movements, without interrupting the love song of knight Ivan whose feelings were just as hot as the iron. Now I think not of when she sensed when to change the iron, but of when the love of that couple had reached the same dangerous temperature.

To prevent that this masterpiece of German poetry doesn’t fall in oblivion, which would be a pity for its words as well as for the tunes were extraordinary too, I will recite only the first stanza:

In des Gartens dunkler Laube
Sassen abends Hand in Hand
Ritter Ivan mit der Ida,
In der Liera festegebannt.

Bound to fight in Holy Land
Sitting in the harbor, hand in hand,
Knight Ivan and his beloved bride Ida
At night, devoted to their love’s awe.

Had the honorable judge seen that poem for whose translation I am answerable, I never would have gotten my American citizenship. I thank God that a well-deserved death sentence isn’t applied to bad writing. But I could not forgive myself had I kept the sample of German-Bohemian kitchen poetry for myself. What a find it would be for Ann Russell. Only to her I would dare to record the crusader’s farewell to his love in thirty strophes, as everybody will understand, especially as I hinted that his love was just as red-glowing as Marischka’s iron. She could by sprinkling the laundry prevent damage, but one couldn’t apply the same method to knight Ivan’s.

When my dear father on the day of Federnschleissen had to resign to his wife’s and oldest daughter’s collaboration, he had also to regret that he had skipped the time where quilts had been the requisite of writers and that he had to spend for steel-pens, where he would have quills in abundance. But Mattl atoned for such a loss. Not that she made quills for him, but she saved a lot to clean his pipes, nobody else would have made such a sacrifice.

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Contrary to my grandmother’s prediction, the folksong has not been forgotten and examples can be heard on YouTube.

May 16

Link to Family Tree to understand family relationships.

Today we have a letter from soldier Harry Lowell at Fort Francis E. Warren in Wyoming to his cousin Paul Zerzawy in San Francisco.

May 16, 1943

Dear Paul,

Well, I know you couldn’t believe your eyes when you saw my handwriting on the envelope – but here I am writing you a letter so soon. You have probably read the letters I wrote to Hilda & Tillie and you have therefore an idea of what I am doing, etc. But this letter will contain facts you might be interested in – opinions which would be misinterpreted by the folks. I know you’ll understand.

As I said before I like it here very much, indeed. I know that if you were in my place, you too, would enjoy the happy fellowship and good spirit that prevails amongst us. Unfortunately very many of the soldiers cannot get used to the fact that there is a war going on and that they are in the army to be fighters, not playboys. We really are fed the best food, and plenty of it, but still the majority groans and squawks because they had beans twice in a row and couldn’t get more than two pork chops. They scoff at scrambled eggs for breakfast, and so on. I get pretty disgusted at times to listen to their unreasonable complaints. If they’d only use their thinking apparatus and be thankful for what they had! (And to think that we all say grace before meals!)

I lost quite a bit of respect for my second lieutenants the other day on parade grounds. Our company was to review before the commanders of the day; the privates were standing in formation and all officers and noncommissioned officers were commanded to come before the inspecting commanders. It’s unbelievable, but – none of the ten second l’s knew what they were supposed to do. I was standing in the first line of the company and had, so to speak, a ringside seat to what was going on. The lieutenants took one step forward, looked to the left and right to see what the others were about to do, finally formed a line, and marched (entirely out of step) toward the big shots. We, in the front line, had a hard time keeping from laughing out loud. These lieutenants were the ones that get excited when someone gets out of step – our teachers! (I know that any high school R.O.T.C. boy could have put them to shame. I remember how we reviewed at Mission.) There is a shortage of officers and the army is glad to get hold of these men who are well-schooled and of good reasoning. The officers’ candidates school fails to teach efficiently in the short time they are given. Just wait until I get to become an officer!

To round out my criticism I must add to the aforementioned facts that there is too much wasting of valuable time and money going on. That’s all right now.

I haven’t mentioned yet that every soldier is furnished with a complete wardrobe – from sox to overshoes; there’s nothing we lack. For further details write for a catalog.

How are you getting along with your pupils? The Lowell Loan Co. [cute graphic] is still in existence.

If you have any questions, ask them and I’ll try to answer them.

I am enclosing a picture of myself. (Purty, ain’t it?)

Well, so long!
Harry

P.S. This letter is restricted. Order 7-12-T650 PvtHL
P.P.S. Will you kindly take my foil and mask to the … next time you come from Hilda’s. Thank you.
P.P.S.S. (Sorry, my pen isn’t housebroken yet.)

Harry’s graphic of the “Lowell Loan Co.”

In this letter to his cousin Paul, Harry seems to want to speak soldier to soldier. He knew Paul had been in the army during WWI and would understand what he was experiencing.

Here is a photo of Harry with his parents and Paul in Vienna from around 1930 – despite the close family connection, they were of different generations.

From left: Harry, Helene (crouching), Paul, Vitali

Harry talks of the fellowship he enjoys in the army. Paul kept many photos of his time as a soldier. Here is one that shows them all with a list of names on the back. It does not appear that Paul was in the photo. Perhaps he had left that company by then. One other thing to point out is something that was common in the early 20th century – making photos into postcards so you could send to friends and family. Sort of the Snapchat or Instagram of the time.

As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, Paul Zerzawy never quite found his footing in San Francisco. It must have been both comforting and embarrassing to be offered loans from his young nephew.

May 13

Link to Family Tree to understand family relationships.

Today we have another postcard from Helene’s nephew Erich Zerzawy, a POW in eastern Siberia, written on May 13, 1917. He is writing to his younger siblings – his father and older brother Paul are soldiers far from home.

13./V.17.

My dear ones!

This time I got a card from Kätherl, but other than that, nothing at all. I wonder what kind of old letters she got, I can’t really imagine. But she has become a big girl, Papa wrote that to me. I have often asked you for photographs. Do send them. You could just send them as a card or possibly in a see-through open envelope. My comrade Canni [?] Kohn from Prague has already received very many. Now I remember that Katherina did once write that Hedl was engaged, but who her fiancé/groom is, my fantasy cannot guess that after such a long time. 

Along the side: I congratulate her most sincerely. She will accept them from me now also.

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You can see the section of the family tree that shows the dates of all the children that only Paul and Robert survived past 1918. Neither of their sisters lived to 18 years old and according to the International Committee of the Red Cross, Erich “fled from Beresowka on July 15, 1918 (a typo on the tree says he died in 1917).

Käthe was the baby of the family, half-sister to the other Zerzawy children. Her mother Mathilde married Julius in 1903 after her sister and Julius’ first wife Ida died the previous year. I have two photos of all the Zerzawy children together. I have labeled them with who I think they are. The first photo must have been taken in 1910 or earlier because Mathilde died in 1910. The later photo must have been taken no later than early 1915, because later that year, Paul was in the army.

May 9

Mother’s Day

Link to Family Tree to understand family relationships.

As I tell my family story, I realize how much of it is about mothers and daughters – strong women protecting their children from adversity as much as possible, trying to give them a better life, as mothers everywhere have been doing since time immemorial. Several of these women married men who, although charming and intelligent, did not have a practical bone in their bodies, leaving day-to-day affairs to their wives.

Rosa and Helene (and perhaps Helene’s father Adolph?) planned to move from Bohemia to Vienna in the early 1900s. Unfortunately, Rosa’s eldest daughter Ida died in 1902, leaving 4 children under the age of 7. I believe Adolph died at this time as well. Helene moved to Vienna on her own. In 1903, Rosa’s daughter Mathilde married her sister’s widower Julius Zerzawy. She died in 1910 and Rosa again took care of her motherless grandchildren until the end of World War I. It must have been heartbreaking for Rosa to be called upon to bury her daughters and care for her grandchildren, and then to lose three of those five grandchildren to war and illness before 1920. Yet, she soldiered on trying to hold the family together.

We learned a bit about Helene’s grandmother Babette and mother Rosa in the post from February 16.

I think often of my own mother’s strength. At a time when most American teenagers were going to high school dances, Eva and her brother had left their parents behind in Vienna, imagining that they would see each other again in a few months. She finished high school and began earning money to send to her parents, hoping that what little she could provide would ease their lives and perhaps help them make the journey to America. After the U.S. entered World War II in 1941, Eva and Harry stopped receiving letters from their parents and had no idea what was happening to them. Eva completed nursing school and began working. Her brother joined the army as soon as he was able. By 1943, Eva was in San Francisco with neither her parents nor her brother. She must have been terrified that she might never hear from her parents again and that Harry would be killed in the war, particularly given how often he talked in his letters about longing to see combat. In 1945, Eva must have been thrilled to know that her mother was safe, but she also had to find the resources to help her mother come to the U.S. and help support her when she arrived. My mother was always an ultra-responsible person, but I can’t imagine how difficult it was to shoulder the responsibility of supporting her parents (and probably trying to act maternally to her younger brother who wouldn’t have been interested), all before she was 25 years old.

I am touched that one of the few cards my grandmother kept was a Mother’s Day card I gave her at some point in the 1960s.

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I am so grateful to all of my foremothers. Happy Mother’s Day!

April 30

Living a long life was a gift

Before COVID-19, most of us in the USA had been spared being affected by diseases and conditions that led to premature death. It was very different for earlier generations. Helene experienced a great deal of loss in her life. The prospect of living to a ripe old age was not an expectation. Helene’s mother had 13 pregnancies, 8 of whom led to successful births. Only Helene and her brother lived into middle age. One sister died very young and we do not even know her name. Other sisters survived into young adulthood. Her sister Ida died in childbirth at 32 and her sister Mathilde/Mattl died at 31. According to her story about the influenza epidemic of 1889 which was posted on January 17, although only her uncle died at the time, two of her sisters were quite sickly for the rest of their lives, dying in their early 20s. Of her 5 Zerzawy nieces and nephews, only Helene’s nephews Robert and Paul survived past age 20.

Helene apparently experienced no ill effects from the 1889 influenza epidemic and survived the 1918 influenza epidemic with no problem. According to her childhood stories, she had inflammation of the inner ear as a young girl, which affected hearing in her left ear. Because of this, she never learned to swim, but otherwise she seems to have been very healthy.

One common disease for which there was no cure was tuberculosis. Helene came down with TB by 1913. By the late 1800s, sanatoria were created for patients to recuperate in a suitable environment. A German Jewish family established a sanatorium in Merano (or Meran), Italy for poor Jews who could not otherwise afford to stay in a sanatorium.

Although my grandmother didn’t write about her experience in Merano in February of 1913, we have several photos of her there. At the time, she was 26 years old and had been working and living on her own in Vienna for about 10 years. It appears she enjoyed herself immensely in Merano while regaining her strength and health.

Helene with friends - she is standing in the back on the right

Helene with friends - she is seated at the right

April 29

Link to Family Tree to understand family relationships.

Today we have another postcard from Erich Zerzawy, brother of Paul and Robert, nephew of Helene. He has been a POW in Beresowka in eastern Siberia since at least January of 1917.

 29/IV.17

My dear ones!

Up until now I have only received your mail from January. But I haven't even received all of that yet. It really ought to show up now. From the Haaterbahurat Roman [?] family I got a nice card from January 12th. I am very thankful to them but I am not in a position to fulfill their request to send them a card. Please give my regards to aunt Anna as well. I hope it is okay to continue to call her that. Please kiss her hand for me. So Robertl and Hans, you went to your induction physicals on February 15th. But I hope we will finish this soon without you.

A thousand kisses from your
Erich

P.S. Pardon my handwriting but I have a slight injury on my right index finger.

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Like for Helene trapped in Vienna 20 years later, mail is precious, slow to arrive, and censored. Erich is limited to how much and how often he can write letters, so he makes sure to put his family first. Despite his difficult situation, he continues to think of others and is hoping his younger brother Robert will be spared becoming a soldier.

I do not know who Aunt Anna was, but have a few photos of her. There are no Annas or Annes anywhere on the Zerzawy or Löwy family trees. However, Paul kept some old photos in an envelope labeled “Paul Zerzawy Photos, in envelope labeled "Paul, Robert, Anne, Julius, Mattl, Ida". Julius was Paul and Robert’s father, Ida their mother (and Helene’s sister), and Mattl was their stepmother (and Ida’s and Helene’s sister). Clearly Anne was as dear to him as these other close relatives.

Two of my favorite photos in the archive are of Anne, perhaps on her wedding day? In the photo where she is standing with the soldiers, I’m fairly certain Julius Zerzawy is standing directly behind her. These photos were taken in May of 1915.

April 22

Link to Family Tree to understand family relationships.

With no letter today, we have another story by Helene, likely written in San Francisco in the 1950s.

When I sorted through my family papers, I found several stories my grandmother had written about her childhood. One was written in German and called “Der Loewe von Bilin.” Having a little knowledge of a language is sometimes less helpful than having none at all. I decided that the title referred to my grandmother’s maiden name Löwy and that the story would tell me all about her family and life in the Bohemian town of Bilin where she was born. Therefore, I asked my friend and translator Roslyn to prioritize its translation.

As I soon learned, the title of the story is “The Lion of Bilin” and refers to the name of the mountain that overlooked the town. When Roslyn translated this story in early 2018, I was really disappointed that it was mostly about people unrelated to her and I set it aside and did not read it again until recently. I wasn’t yet familiar with her writing style, and had not read enough of her childhood stories to understand that she felt completely out of place in Bilin as a child. Like “O Katherina” which we saw on March 13, in this story Helene takes us on a wonderful journey, this time from the 1890s in Bilin to 1918 in Vienna, and we learn a lot about her childhood as well as her attitudes and life before she met Vitali. As often is the case in her stories and letters, Goethe makes an important appearance. You can see drawings Goethe made of Bilin at the Goethezeitportal. Images 19-22 are of Bilin.

I have one stand-alone copy of this story which looks like a final draft. In a binder with other childhood stories, she had an earlier draft as well as images of a lion and of the mountain.

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Final draft of story

Earlier draft

The Lion of Bilin

by Helene Cohen

Borschen Mountain is located in a valley between the Erz Mountains – the natural border between the Empires of Saxony and Bohemia – and the Bohemian Uplands.  It is 538 meters above sea level.  It is the highest clinkstone rock cliff in the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy.

We had learned this in the ‘90s in geography class.  We had to memorize it.  However, what was far more interesting to us pupils than the height above sea level of this unforested basalt rock were the many tales and stories about our local rock.  The northern Erz mountain chain, with its mountains more than 1000 meters high, the very old, gigantic, tall evergreen forests, the unforgiving snowstorms in the winter and the menacing storms in the summer, impressed us greatly. The moods of this climate made the wild, fantastic tales seem so much more believable to us than what we learned about the Borschen, which just stood there doing nothing, splendid in its isolation, quiet and evoking no fear.  It took in the sun and let it be reflected by its glittering white quartz.  Often enough, however, it just looked gray.  But the mountain, which in its quiet majesty looked down confidently and even arrogantly on our little medieval city, could not be trusted.  Tourists unfamiliar with the area might have had a hard time visiting this rock, even though they had heard of its very interesting flora and its rare minerals.  They might have seen our little Cinderella-esque city in the Bohemian spa region, but there was no sign that might have told them how to go up the cliff safely.  It is not generally known that Goethe, in his role as a nature researcher and artist, visited Bilin during his stay in Teplitz.  Fascinated by this odd Alpine formation, he drew a sketch, and, struck by the odd mood of nature, he called it The Lion of Bilin.  What a great wonder that Napoleon, on his way to Austerlitz, was thinking of other matters.  Otherwise, he might have had the Borschen removed and installed somewhere in France.  Whoever travels on the dusty rural road which passes by the Bohemian Sphinx could not have believed that the bushes between the rifts and chasms was actually a clever camouflage, a trap to prevent the eradication of the rare grasses found there along with the Borschen carnation.

Postcard in binder with draft of the story

Drawing in binder with draft of the story

We, the school children, knew nothing of this.  To us, the Borschen was not a lion, and was of no geological or botanical interest.  It was just a splendid place to play hide and go seek, and (cops and) robber games.  Later, much later, I deeply regretted having been such an obedient child who stayed away from the group who, even just in play, wanted to harm the Borschen region.

Two boys, the brightest but also the wildest in their class, were the ringleaders.  Their names were Ottl Kurz and Attl (Arthur) Kurz.  (The last name means “short”). They were the smallest kids around, but they were such daring rascals that older, bigger kids respected them.  The Kurz boys’ boldness seemed more important than the ten to fifteen centimeters in height that the older boys had on them.  While the other boys saw what a great place the Borschen area was for their robber and war games, the Kurz pair were absolutely bewitched by it.  They knew every nook and cranny.  If the Borschen had attracted a wider audience, they would have made fine tour guides.  But that never happened, and so the Borschen remained the favored place of these children, even as they grew older.  Later, as university students, they would hike up there with their textbooks, still feeling some kind of magnetic attraction to the place, as a criminal often feels drawn to the scene of his crime.  They always went to this place, even though it could have been disastrous for them.  But I’m getting ahead of myself.

During summer vacation, Ottl and Attl Kurz left the house at 6 a.m. to go to their Borschen, which always had something new to show them, like in the Thousand and One Nights. 

These boys’ parents were used to these escapades, and did not worry when their roguish boys – whom they impersonated at times - came home a bit late from the mountain, hungry as bears.  But when it got to be 9 o’clock, and their boys still had not come home, they started to worry.  They notified the police, and tired miners and field hands who heard the rumor also joined the search.  It’s strange how popular these young rascals were.   

The search was only carried out in the immediate area of the Borschen.  Searching the forests and the nearby spa was deemed unnecessary.  After a two-hour search, aided by the full moon, the boys were found, unconscious and with several holes in their heads, in a deep chasm.  They were transported to the hospital on a hay wagon.

At that time, I was no longer in my home town; I lived in Vienna.  I heard of the tragedy that had befallen the rascals some twenty years later, when I ran into Engineer Kurz in the revolving door of a Viennese café.  We greeted each other, laughing, as if we had just seen each other recently.

“Hi there, HE.  Still the same?”  The two letters had a double meaning.  They were my nickname, but in the Bilin dialect they also meant “crazy”.  And Mr. Kurz did intend that double entendre!  He grabbed my arm.  “Are you expecting someone?  Really, you’re not?  Then we can sit at the same table.” 

“Ottl Kurz, you still haven’t grown up!”

We sat together for several hours, putting everyone down – the locals, the bigwigs.  We thought the entire population, including us, was just a bunch of characters.  For the first time, I realized that it bothered Otto that he was so short, or at least it had bothered him in his younger days.  He told me – and he was lying – that his claustrophobia, which he really did have as a result of the disaster at the Borschen, had made him unfit for military service.  He thought he could help the fatherland more by thundering on about war, complaining about the war economy, the victors, and so on.  He could disguise his claustrophobia as a mental illness.

I laughed at his humor, but also felt great sympathy due to the insights into his psyche which he had shared with me.  I decided to be nice to him and take care of him, even though he kept teasing me.  His way of making fun of his own shortcomings was the best type of gallows humor.  After the waiter interrupted us, I decided to change the subject:

“Hey, why don’t you tell me about the robber show incident?  I wasn’t living at home by then.”

“Yes, it really was quite a while ago; now, our last rascal prank is mentioned in the new editions of school books as a warning about what not to do.  Now, 20 years later, I still don’t know how we two got home.  We were running around showing off our battle scars, with our heads bandaged.  We were particularly excited about being excused from school for a whole year!  That alone was worth the whole adventure.

I can still remember, as if it had happened yesterday, what happened to me just before we fell down the chasm.  Attl, who was a year younger than I, but a centimeter taller, was the daredevil.  He stood up on a sharp pinnacle and, making a megaphone with his hands, hollered to me:  “Come on up here, Ottl, and look at all this splendor!  Not even Lobkowicz has these specimens in his botanical garden.  Come smell the fragrance!”  I suffered a crippling panic attack.  Such splendor could only be found in a dangerous steep overhang; anywhere else, all the rare flowers would already have been picked.  Before I could reach him or even warn him,  Attl disappeared without saying a word.  I called his name; no answer.  Gathering all my strength, I screamed:  Attl, I’m counting to three and then I’m coming to get you!  

The end?  I’m sitting here with HE, drinking, in pleasant company, a brown liquid.  The coffee of Saxony in the olden days seemed like nectar in comparison.  Now, I live in Vienna, the city of song and love. 

Attl lives in Germany.  He is the main chemist at a dyehouse in Wuppertal.  On a business trip before the war, he met a tall, beautiful woman, fell in love with her, and they are happily married.  They have two children who are almost as tall as he is, and he is very proud of this.  I am, as you may know, since we have acquaintances in common in Vienna, still in service to the Emperor and the King.

“Why don’t you do as Attl did?”

Well, I had more holes in my head than he did, and maybe that’s why I haven’t been able to make the decision to give up the single life.  And you?  Why are you still single?  Are you really not married yet?

“That’s not going to change.”

When you left our home town, people thought you were a little “he” {crazy].  But you didn’t even fall down the Borschen.

I know people were saying things about me, but not that I was crazy.  They were saying I had a screw loose because I went to live in Vienna to work and study.  The first worked out:  I found a job that suited me, but I didn’t have the time or the money for further studies. 

Maybe things will change for you eventually.  Sometimes our status changes. 

If that was an offer, I’d have to say, we are too similar to attract each other.

Who said anything about attraction?

Too bad there’s no more room for another hole in your head.  I’d be glad to make another one for you.  

Otto laughed out loud.  “That sounds almost encouraging.  A dressing down, the kind you almost can taste.  Maybe you’ll reconsider.”

If you really want to get married, maybe I can be of help. I have a friend. She’s an unusually charming person, and she likes “originals”.  If you come to this coffeehouse again, I’m a regular here, and she is sure to be here, too.

In Spring 1919, I received a picture postcard of Borschen, from my friends Fanny and Otto.  They were on their honeymoon.  I sent them my congratulations, asking if the Borschen didn’t make the claustrophobia act up.

A second card came:  “On a good roadway, we came quite near the place I almost lost my head.  Fanny was disappointed not to find a shrine to the famous explorer. She would have liked to marry a famous man.  I told her that if I had died and then been carted away from there, then I would have been famous.  She assured me that she is happy to be married to a man who isn’t famous; that is better than not being married.  The Borschen now has a kiosk that reminds one of the ones in Vienna, but the refreshments are better tasting.

How are you doing – until next time?  Don’t be “he”, He.  Do what we did.

April 5

Link to Family Tree to understand family relationships. 

Easter Sunday 8./IV.17.

My dear ones!

I am happy that I have received mail from you again, even if it was sent to me from Trojikorawsk, 2 letters and 3 cards. I am very concerned that Robert is not well and that the economy is weighing on you. Now I should be fine until the end, don’t worry about me. I am also very pleased that Grandmother at least wrote me a few lines. She used to worry that I could not read her handwriting. In these circumstances of mine, I’d do my best to decipher hieroglyphics if she wrote me in those. Robertl should not hesitate to write whatever is on his mind. I am curious to know everything. One thousand kisses. Your

Erich

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We have today another letter from Paul and Robert’s brother, a POW in Siberia. At this point, Erich is almost 19 years old. Paul’s letters are usually all business, with little or no humor – he was trained as a lawyer and is very precise in his descriptions, even when they’re about the wonderful time he had on leave in Vienna in his March 19 letter. Even as a prisoner of war, Erich’s sense of humor shines through – much more like his Aunt Helene.

Erich alludes to economic problems. From the WWI letters, it appears that the adult men in the Zerzawy family have been soldiers. Remaining at home in Brüx was Robert, who at the beginning of the war would have been 14 or 15, and his half-sister Käthl who would have been 10. Their grandmother (Helene’s mother) was taking care of them while her son-in-law Julius and his older sons were in the army. Paul and Julius sent money and packages when possible; Erich of course was in no position to do so.

March 19

Link to Family Tree to understand family relationships.

First page of letter. Paul’s letters were written in 4 “pages” on a single sheet, beginning with the outside folded right side of the page. Pages 2 and 3 were on the inside, and page 4 was on the left side of the first page, the back when the sheet was folded.

Feldpost 211, 19.3.1918

 My dear ones!

Yesterday in the late morning, I arrived although one train too late, but “without complications,” as they say in military jargon. I have arrived, joining the military ranks. I have found everything here as it was before my leave. And therefore I don’t have a lot to tell you about what I am doing because the second battalion is again in reserve in H, and because of daily exercises and most beautiful peacetime drills, interrupted in between by boredom and the desire to have my next leave.

The past leave was just beautiful. First, 14 days at home. I was able to observe Käterl’s better health with my own eyes. Then 14 days in Vienna. There, thanks to the great wonderful extension of my leave, I really enjoyed life. I was only at home one evening, all other nights I was out: the Prater, concerts, dances, cabaret, movies. I saw: “The Queen of Sheba,” “Rigoletto,” “Kuhreigen” [cow dance – perhaps country dancing?], 2 comedies, 1 operetta, etc. I came to know Helene’s circle of friends – and saw a good part of the town and surroundings. At the same time, Helene let me stay at the apartment and gave me evening meals and lunches. I visited Helene’s museums and the Parliament.

In Srzemahl’s [?] I was unfortunately only 1-1/2 days. I also liked it there very much. – The travel back was less pretty. In Budapest, 24 hours of stopping (there I already had to start being parsimonious with my money!) Until Kronstadt, there was no place to sit. But starting from Buzau, a regular train. In Focsam the night in the officers’ building was okay again.

The premature deployment might have happened because the regiment was moved (but only for a few days) and it was ready for attack – it is meanwhile no secret anymore – back then when Romania became obstinate - you are able to remember? – I have to be careful and wait a little while before I request another leave. So you know pretty much everything about me.

Stay healthy and write to me often and a lot.

Your Paul

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As I’ve mentioned before, when I found Paul Zerzawy’s box of WWI letters, they seemed like an afterthought to the rest of the documents in the archive – I assumed they were tangential to my grandmother’s story. When Amei Papitto translated this letter 2 months ago, it was a wonderful gift –a window into my grandmother’s Vienna before she was married. It indeed sounds like a cultural paradise – endless live music and entertainment, movies, socializing with her friends (presumably at the cafes). She showed him a grand time!

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Studio portrait of Helene at 31 taken in January 1918. Her choice of items to include in the photo makes perfect sense - two books with a newspaper sandwiched between them. Unfortunately we can’t read the book title - perhaps Goethe?

March 18

Link to Family Tree to understand family relationships.

Mail to prisoners of war

Today we have another letter from Erich Zerzawy to his brother Robert in Bohemia. At this point Erich had been a POW in Russia for almost a year. Although the letter is dated March 18, you can see from the postmarks that the letter didn’t arrive in Brüx until 3 months later, first going through Russia, a censor in Vienna (triangular postmark).

18./III.17.

My dear Robert!

I was very pleased to get your letter, even though it concerns me that your health is not particularly good. This seems to be one of the first letters sent to Beresowka sent on January 16. I wish you all the best. See to it that you regain your health as soon as possible so that you will be healthy like I am. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to write to you in detail as I would like to. With the colossal escalation here in Russia, they have limited our correspondence to a card a week and a letter every two weeks. I hope you get my next letter. I’ll switch off between writing to you and writing to Papa. You’ll have to console the others as long as I have to do that. For example, yesterday I got 2 cards from Franzl Reh from Neumarkt (December 12 and 15 sent to Trojaksovosk). I wrote to thank them, etc.. I didn’t know about Ernst Sedlacek’s present, but I will try to look for it. I thank Grandmother for all her kind thoughts for me and for the care package she has promised. These are doubly appreciated. By the way, it is best to send those as small Field Post packages. Larger packages can take a long time to come. The others can take 4 weeks. Austrian cigarettes, handkerchiefs, etc. Sincerely,

Erich

Written on the side: Please also Wickelgamaschen [Puttee - leg wraps], socks, suspenders

Until I delved into my family papers, I had no idea that POWs were able to at least sporadically send mail and to receive mail and packages. Even in Ravensbrück and Buchenwald, prisoners received packages – Helene mentions sharing care package contents with fellow prisoners in her letter to Lucienne Simier posted on January 22. 

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Below is a letter from Helene’s husband Haim (Vitali) Cohen to Otto Zrzavy in Prague. This is one of the very few examples I have of Vitali’s writing. Otto may have been Paul Zerzawy’s first cousin, although earlier in the war I have letters from him from Haifa. Perhaps he returned to Europe? But if so, how was he still safe and able to send packages?

4 March 1945

Dear Otto, Got your package on time on February 8, very happy to get it.  I hope Helene has received news from you too; don’t forget to say hello to her for me. I’m sure you have told Paul and Robert our new addresses.  I wish you all the best (? – covered by the “postal examiner” stamp) and remain your

Haim Cohen

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As Vitali is writing this, Helene is about to be released from Ravensbrück and put on a ship to Istanbul, as we saw on March 15. They never hear from each other again.