| Low Saxon
in the original orthography:
Broder Ninne vun Clara Kramer-Freudenthal Dodensünndag steiht vör de Döör. Uns Dinken geiht trüch an all uns Leben, de vun uns gohn sünd. Dat Dotum, de 23. Oktober 1923, sitt swoor un fast in mien Kopp. Nu is dat al 75 Johr her. Seker warrt dat in Hamborg Dinkfiern geben, de op den "Barmbeker Aufstand" trüchkieken warrt. 17 Polizisten un ungefihr 90 Opständische un Passanten sünd no de Ünnerlogen, de ik jüst per Fax vun de Geschichtswerkstatt Barmbek kregen hebb, bi den Kommunisten-Putsch gegen de Weimarer Republik ümkoom. Ok dat Foto vun de 17 Polizisten mit mien Broder Ninne wüür dorbi. Op den Karkhoff Ohlsdorf sünd hier eenige bisett un annere sünd öberführt worrn no jümehr Tohuus. "Polizei Hamburg - Revier Blutbuche" warrt ditt Ehrenrebeet op den groten Karkhoff in Hamborg-Ohlsdörp neumt. Een Mohnmool driggt de Nooms vun de 17 fulln Polizisten. Ok "Hinrich Freudenthal" is dor to lesen. Politisch wüür noch veel dorto to seggen, ober dat öberloot ik de, de dorför tostännig sünd. Liekers ik knapp veer Johr old wüür steiht kloor vör mien Ogen wat mien Öllern dormols hebbt lieden müßt. Süster Gertrud hett mi holpen allns noch mol Revue posseern to loten. Se kunn sik an veel mihr besinn' as ik. Gertrud is good fief Johr öller as ik. As August Knütel Pappa dat Telegramm mit de Noricht vun Hinnik sien Dood geev sä Pappa: "August, bruukst nix to seggen. Ik weet, wat dor binn steiht, un wat in Hamborg los is." Still hett he Pappa un Mamma de Hann'n drückt un is bedröfft ruutgohn. De Nobers käumen - August harr jüm Bescheed geben - un hebbt jümehr Mitfeuhlen künnig mookt. De Froonslüüd wüürn üm Mamma rüm, de in'n achten Moond mit uns jüngste Süster Wilma swanger güng. Wat hett se in ehr Leben dörchmoken müßt! Mien öllste Broder Jonny is mit 21 Johr 1919 an Hillig Obend op See bleben, un ehr tweete Söhn Hinrich, ok 21 Johr old, is in Barmbek bi sien Polizei-Insatt den 23. Oktober 1923 achterrücks vun een Kommunisten afknallt worrn. Wüür een Schööt direkt in 't Hatt. Annern Dag müß Pappa no Hamborg un sien Söhn identifizieren. All de Doden wüürn in 'n Michel opbohrt. Pappa hett ok glieks kloor mookt, datt Hinnik no Huus öberführt warrn schull. Ok in uns Dörp geev dat Kommunisten, de sik freit hebbt, datt een Udl weniger wüür, un hebbt dat sogor luut seggt. Mien Öllern wörr todrogen, datt de Roden an unsen Anlegger in Keunigriek den Sarg mit Steen besmieten wulln, un hebbt den Liekenwogen no Cranz an den Anlegger schickt. Sien Kameroden hebbt em vun den Damper drogen. Vun Huus to Huus sünd de Minschen den Liekentoog folgt. Bi uns Huus ankoom hebbt se de Peer anhooln. Mamma is ruutgohn, hett den Sarg strokelt. As de Peer antröcken, is se tosoombroken. Arme Mamma! mütt een iers so old warrn, üm richtig to begriepen, wat dat Leben een oploden kann? Bloots de Gloov hett Mamma holpen. De Noberfroons hebbt den Disch deckt un Kaffe kookt. Mi hebbt se in de achterste Eck op den Hierd op een Füürkiek sett. Wüür sachs al koold to Enn vun den Wienmoond. As Ninne - den Noom harr ik em geben - sien Kameroden vun den Karkhoff trüchkeumen, hebbt se in Uniform üm den groten Eekendisch seten un Kaffe drunken. Sien Fründ Marius seet op de Bank, un ik hebb em froogt: "Marius, wokeen vun disse Unkels hett mien Ninne denn dootschoten?" He stünn op un anter, keek mi fast in de Ogen: "Meine kleine Mausi, der ist nicht hier. Den habe ich erschossen gleich nachdem er deinen Bruder und meinen besten Freund erschossen hatte, bevor er noch mehr Kollegen umgebracht hätte." Ik schall deep otent un seggt hebben: "Danke, Marius." Marius hett uns noch foken besöcht, un liek so as Ninne hett he versöcht mi Hoochdüütsch bitobringen. Den "Fleischklopper", "Hausdöör", "Beiketel" un noch veel mihr Wüür harr Ninne al mit mi euvt. Ümmer hebb ik de ierste Sülv hoochdüütsch seggt un denn güng dat in de Modersprook wieder. All dat Euben hett ober rein gor nix bröcht, as hüdigendoogs noch to sehn is. Den 23.Oktober 1940 is uns Diether in mien Öllernhuus boorn worrn. Mien Mamma hett den Jung'n an ehr Hatt drückt un jubileert: "Nu hebb ik een lütten Hinnik warrer." In all mien Glück harr ik Ninne sien Dodesdag vergeten, sünst harr he wiß den Noom Hinrich mitkregen. Froog mi hüüdigendoogs noch, worüm hett Mamma mi nich doropp bröcht; denn se hett dat nie nich vergeten. Dat weet ik gans nau. |
English
translation by R. F. Hahn: My Brother Ninne by Clara Kramer-Freudenthal Sunday of the Dead is almost upon us. Our thoughts return to all our loved ones that have passed on. The date October 23, 1923, sits heavily in my mind. Already 75 years have passed by since. Surely in Hamburg there will be memorial events that take people back to the "Uprising of Barmbek." According to the records I just received per fax from the Historical Workshop Barmbek, seventeen police officers and about ninety insurgents and passersby perished in the Communist coup against the Weimar Republic. Included was the photograph of the seventeen police officers, my brother Ninne among them. Some of them are buried in the Ohlsdorf Cemetery, while others had been transferred to their homes. This honor plot in the large cemetery of Hamburg-Ohlsdorf is named "Police Department Hamburg - Blutbuche Precinct." Added to an exhortive inscription are the names of the seventeen fallen police officers. Included is "Hinrich Freudenthal." Much could be said about the politics of it all, but I leave that to those whose business it is. Although I was only four years old at the time, I still clearly remember the suffering my parents went through then. My sister Gertrud has helped me get it all straightened out in my mind. She remembers much more that I do. Gertrud is more than five years older than I. When August Knütel gave Dad the telegram informing us of Hinnik's death, Dad said, "August, no need to say anything. I know what it says and what's been going on in Hamburg." Without saying a word he squeezed Dad's and Mom's hands and walked out sadly. The neighbors arrived -- August having informed them -- and expressed their condolence. The women huddled around Mom, who was eight months pregnant with my youngest sister Wilma. What horrors she had to live through in her lifetime! My oldest brother, Jonny, then 21 years of age, did not return from sea on Christmas Eve 1919, and her second son, Hinrich, also at the age of 21, was shot in the back and killed by a Communist during a police operation on October 23, 1923, in Barmbek. It was a shot directly into his heart. The following day, Dad had to go to Hamburg to identify his son. All the dead had been laid in state in St. Michael's Church. Dad immediately let them know that Hinnik's body was to be transferred home. In our village, too, there were Communists who were delighted that there was one less cop now, and they even said so. My parents were told that the Reds had thrown rocks at the casket at the jetty in Königreich, so they sent the hearse to the jetty in Cranz. His friends carried his body onto the steamboat. People followed the funeral procession from house to house. When they arrived at our house, the horses stopped. Mom went outside, petted the casket. She broke down when the horses began to pull away. Poor Mom! Why is it that you can only really appreciate the extent of life's burdens when you get this old? Only her faith helped Mom to carry on. The women of the neighborhood laid the table and made coffee. They sat me onto a Füerkiek [a heated footstool] in the farthest corner on top of the stove. It probably was already cold at the end of October. When the friends of "Ninne" -- I had given them this name -- had returned from the graveyard they sat in their uniforms around the large oak wood table and drank coffee. His friend Marius sat on the bench, and I asked him, "Marius, which of these uncles shot my Ninne?" He got up and answered, looking me straight into the eyes, "He isn't here, my little mousy. I shot him dead as soon as he had killed your brother, my friend, before he had a chance to kill other fellow officers." I am supposed to have taken a deep breath and said, "Thanks, Marius." Marius visited us many times after that and, just like Ninne, he tried to teach me High German. Ninne had practiced with me Fleischklopper [i.e., Fleischklopfer 'meat beater"], Hausdöör [i.e., Haustür, 'front door'], Beiketel [i.e., Beikessel 'tea kettel'] and many more words. I would always say the first syllable in High German and the rest would be in my native language. All the practice didn't get me very far, as you can tell even these days. Our son Diether was born in my childhood home on October 23, 1940. My Mom hugged the boy and exclaimed jubilantly, "Now I have my little Hinnik back!" In my happy excitement I had forgotten the anniversary of Ninne's death. Otherwise I would have probably chosen Hinrich as one of his names. I still wonder why Mom didn't jog my memory, because I'm absolutely sure that she hadn't forgotten. |
| Transliteration
in Lowlands Orthography:
Brouder Ninne fun Clara Kramer-Freudenthal Dodensuendag stait foer dei deur. Uns dinken gait trueg an al uns leiven, dei fun uns gaan suend. Dat datum, de 23. [dreiuntwintigsten] Oktover 1923 [negentainhunnerd-dreiuntwintig], sitt swaar un fast in miin kop. Nuu is dat al 75 [fiivunseuventig] jaar heer. Seker wardt dat in Hamborg Dinkfiern geven, dei op d'n "Barmbeker Aufstand" trueg-kiken wardt. 17 [seuventain] poliitsisten un ungefeir 90 [negentig] opstendische un passanten suend naa de uennerlagen, dei ik juest per faks fun de Geschichtswerkstatt Barmbek kregen hev, bii d'n kommunisten-putsch gegen de Weimarer Republik uem-kamen. Ook dat foto fun de 17 poliitsisten mit miin brouder Ninne woyr daar bii. Op d'n Karkhov Ohlsdorf suend hiir einige bii-sett, un annere suend euver-foyrd worden naa juem eer touhuus'. "Polizei Hamburg - Revier Blutbuche" wardt dit eren-rebeid op d'n groten Karkhov in Hamborg-Ohlsdoerp noymt. 'n Maanmaal drigt de naams fun de 17 fullenen poliitsisten. Ook "Hinrich Freudenthal" is daar tou lesen. Politisch woyr noch feel daar tou tou seggen, aver dat euver-laat ik dei, dei daar foer tou-stendig suend. Likers ik knap feir jaar old woyr, stait klaar foer miin ogen wat miin oeldern daarmaals hebt liden muest. Suester Gertrud hett mii holpen allens noch maal revuy paasseiren tou laten. Sei kun sik an feel meir besinnen as ik. Gertrud is goud fiiv jaar oelder as ik. As August Knuetel Pappa dat telegram mit de naricht fun Hinnik siin dood geev', see Pappa: "August, bruukst niks tou seggen. Ik weet, wat daar binnen stait un wat in Hamborg loos is." Stil hett hei Pappa un Mamma de handen druekd un is bedroevt ruut-gaan. De navers koymen - August har juem bescheid geven - un hebt juem eer mit-foylen kuennig maakd. De frouns-luyd' woyren uem Mamma ruem, dei in d'n achten maand mit uns juengste suester Wilma swanger gueng. Wat hett sei in eer leven doerch-maken muesd! Miin oeldste brouder Jonny is mit 21 [einuntwintig] jaar 1919 [negentainhunnerd-negentain] an Hillig Avend op sei bleven, un eer tweide seun Hinrich, ook 21 jaar old, is in Barmbek bii siin poliitsai-insat d'n 23. Oktober 1923 achter-rueks fun 'n kommunisten af-knald worden. Woyr 'n scheut direkt in 't hat. Annern dag muess Pappa naa Hamborg un siin seun identifitseiren. Al de doden woyren in d'n Michel op-baard. Pappa hett ook gliiks klaar maakd, dat Hinnik naa huus' euver-foyrr warden schul. Ook in uns doerp geev' dat kommunisten, dei sik fraid hebt, dat 't 'n uudl weiniger woyr, un hebt dat sogaar luud segd. Miin oeldern woerd' tou-dragen, dat dei Roden an unsen an-legger in Koynigriik d'n sarg mit steinen besmiten wullen, un hebt d'n liken-wagen naa Cranz an d'n an-legger schikd. Siin kammeraden hebt em fun d'n damper dragen. Fun huus tou huus suend de minschen d'n liken-toug folgd. Bii uns huus an-kamen hebt sei dei peird' an-holden. Mamma is ruut-gaan, hett d'n sarg strakelt. As de peird' an-troekken, is sei tosamen-braken. Arme Mamma! Muet ein eirsd soo old warden uem richtig tou begripen, wat dat leven ein op-laden kan? Bloots de glovv' hett Mamma holpen. De naver-frouns hebt d'n disch dekd un kaffe kaakd. Mii hebt sei in de achterste ek op d'n heird op 'n fuyrkiik sett. Woyer sachs al kold tou end fun d'n wiinmaand. As Ninne - den naam har ik em geven - siin kammeraden fun d'n karkhov trueg-koymen, hebt sei in uniform uem d'n groten eiken-disch seten un kaffe drunken. Siin fruend Marius seet op de bank, un ik hev em fraagd: "Marius, woukein fun disse unkels hett miin Ninne den dood schaten?" Hei stuend op un anter, keek mii fast in de oogen: "Meine kleine Mausi, der ist nicht hier. Den habe ich erschossen gleich nachdem er deinen Bruder und meinen besten Freund erschossen hatte, bevor er noch mehr Kollegen umgebracht hätte." Ik schal deip atend un segd hebben: "Danke, Marius." Marius hett uns noch faken besoechd, un liik soo as Ninne hett hei fersoechd mii Hoof-Duytsch bii tou bringen. D'n "Fleischklopper", "Hausdöör", "Beiketel" un noch feel meir woyrd' har Ninne al mit mii oyvd. Uemmer hev ik de eirsde suelv' hoog-duytsch segd un den gueng dat in de mouder-spraak wider. Al dat oyven hett aver rain gaar niks broechd, as huydigen-daags noch tou sein is. D'n 23.Oktober 1940 [negenhunnerd-feirtig] is uns Diether in miin oeldern-huus boorn worden. Miin Mamma hett d'n jung an eer hat druekd un jubileird: "Nu hev ik 'n luetten Hinnik warrer." In al miin gluek har ik Ninne siin dodesdag fergeten, suenst har hei wiss d'n naam Hinrich mit-kregen. Fraag' mi huydigen-daags noch, wouruem hett Mamma mii nich daarop broechd; den sei hett dat nii nich fergeten. Dat weet ik gans nau. |
English
translation by R. F. Hahn: My Brother Ninne by Clara Kramer-Freudenthal Sunday of the Dead is almost upon us. Our thoughts return to all our loved ones that have passed on. The date October 23, 1923, sits heavily in my mind. Already 75 years have passed by since. Surely in Hamburg there will be memorial events that take people back to the "Uprising of Barmbek." According to the records I just received per fax from the Historical Workshop Barmbek, seventeen police officers and about ninety insurgents and passersby perished in the Communist coup against the Weimar Republic. Included was the photograph of the seventeen police officers, my brother Ninne among them. Some of them are buried in the Ohlsdorf Cemetery, while others had been transferred to their homes. This honor plot in the large cemetery of Hamburg-Ohlsdorf is named "Police Department Hamburg - Blutbuche Precinct." Added to an exhortive inscription are the names of the seventeen fallen police officers. Included is "Hinrich Freudenthal." Much could be said about the politics of it all, but I leave that to those whose business it is. Although I was only four years old at the time, I still clearly remember the suffering my parents went through then. My sister Gertrud has helped me get it all straightened out in my mind. She remembers much more that I do. Gertrud is more than five years older than I. When August Knütel gave Dad the telegram informing us of Hinnik's death, Dad said, "August, no need to say anything. I know what it says and what's been going on in Hamburg." Without saying a word he squeezed Dad's and Mom's hands and walked out sadly. The neighbors arrived -- August having informed them -- and expressed their condolence. The women huddled around Mom, who was eight months pregnant with my youngest sister Wilma. What horrors she had to live through in her lifetime! My oldest brother, Jonny, then 21 years of age, did not return from sea on Christmas Eve 1919, and her second son, Hinrich, also at the age of 21, was shot in the back and killed by a Communist during a police operation on October 23, 1923, in Barmbek. It was a shot directly into his heart. The following day, Dad had to go to Hamburg to identify his son. All the dead had been laid in state in St. Michael's Church. Dad immediately let them know that Hinnik's body was to be transferred home. In our village, too, there were Communists who were delighted that there was one less cop now, and they even said so. My parents were told that the Reds had thrown rocks at the casket at the jetty in Königreich, so they sent the hearse to the jetty in Cranz. His friends carried his body onto the steamboat. People followed the funeral procession from house to house. When they arrived at our house, the horses stopped. Mom went outside, petted the casket. She broke down when the horses began to pull away. Poor Mom! Why is it that you can only really appreciate the extent of life's burdens when you get this old? Only her faith helped Mom to carry on. The women of the neighborhood laid the table and made coffee. They sat me onto a Füerkiek [a heated footstool] in the farthest corner on top of the stove. It probably was already cold at the end of October. When the friends of "Ninne" -- I had given them this name -- had returned from the graveyard they sat in their uniforms around the large oak wood table and drank coffee. His friend Marius sat on the bench, and I asked him, "Marius, which of these uncles shot my Ninne?" He got up and answered, looking me straight into the eyes, "He isn't here, my little mousy. I shot him dead as soon as he had killed your brother, my friend, before he had a chance to kill other fellow officers." I am supposed to have taken a deep breath and said, "Thanks, Marius." Marius visited us many times after that and, just like Ninne, he tried to teach me High German. Ninne had practiced with me Fleischklopper [i.e., Fleischklopfer 'meat beater"], Hausdöör [i.e., Haustür, 'front door'], Beiketel [i.e., Beikessel 'tea kettel'] and many more words. I would always say the first syllable in High German and the rest would be in my native language. All the practice didn't get me very far, as you can tell even these days. Our son Diether was born in my childhood home on October 23, 1940. My Mom hugged the boy and exclaimed jubilantly, "Now I have my little Hinnik back!" In my happy excitement I had forgotten the anniversary of Ninne's death. Otherwise I would have probably chosen Hinrich as one of his names. I still wonder why Mom didn't jog my memory, because I'm absolutely sure that she hadn't forgotten. |