Goslar - Norbert's roots and a fascinating old town

We awoke this morning to rain.  But that only caused some shift in our plans.  Our host , Alexander, left early for work and his son left for school. We fixed our breakfast and drove the short distance to the center of the city.   We could have walked but it was raining hard and the cobbled streets , though really enjoyable to see, are not particularly fun to walk on.

A neighbor to where we are staying catching rainwater

Norbert was born in Berlin in 1942. Those of us old enough to remember know what that means.   The American bombers flew over like clockwork twice a day. His mother had to take him into a hole in the back yard his father had dug as a bomb shelter.  She would pull pieces of lumber over their heads. In 1945 the chimney of their home was hit by Russian artillery and his mother knew it was time to leave.  His father was an American citizen who had been brought to Germany as a child then left by his father in Germany when his wife, Norbert's grandmother died suddenly.   When the war came, he was drafted into the German army and served time in an American POW camp.

His mother had to decide whether to stay in Berlin and await her husband's return from the war or flee to the West to her parents home  across the border in Goslar.   She decided to flee.  She later admitted to Norbert that in the great crowd of people trying to get on the train,  she pinched him to make him cry and it worked.  they were moved to the front and boarded the train.   Not far from  Berlin in Magdeburg the tracks had been bombed and the train had to stop. 

Elfriede, slept by day in barns and traveled by night , using freight trains and any other means to cover the distance that would today take two and a half hours to drive,  took three harrowing days.

When she arrived in Goslar she moved in with her mother making 4 families in 4 small bedrooms, small kitchen , small living room in a second floor apartment and an outdoor toilet (out house), .

Her home is the tall building across the street from the garbage truck

Norbert's father eventually made his way to Goslar and after several years were able to find an affordable 2 room apartment .

This was their apartment - now with new paint!

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He and his parents and his brother who was 8 years younger lived in the room on the right with the grey around it and the room behind it.  They shared a bath.

This was the last house on the street.  Across the street was a tennis club where Norbert was a ball boy.  One day someone gave him an old racket and he began to practice against the backboard.   He eventually became a very good player.


Next to the house was wooded and the base of  one of the Harz Mountains and Norbert spent many hours up there by himself.  He has a deep love of nature which was fed or developed during those long hours.  Today there are houses along that side of the street.  We drove among them and at the end of a dead end street saw a path.   I was walked out and told Norbert to take his time and go and explore.   The rain had stopped.

These are some of the pictures he brought back.

The meadow he used to play in up the mountain

And then there was the story he told me of falling into this pond for which is mother was NOT happy.

THE Pond

In 1956  Norbert age 15, his brother, Charles age 7 and his parents came to the US as refugees sponsored by the First Presbyterian Church of Greenwich, Connecticut..