A certain lack of comforts

This photo is from sometime in the middle years of the war, maybe from the Eastern or Italian fronts. An NCO and a soldier (or possibly another NCO) stand next to a tangle of branches, which might conceal an observation post or machine gun position. The man on the left is armed with a P38 pistol carried in a holster, while his companion wears a Zeltbahn, which effectively obscures any weapons. The 6×30 binoculars reinforce the impression that this is an observation post.

The man on the left wears a M40 greatcoat and a balaclava-like toque, known as an Oma (“Granny”) to the troops, which provide some warmth. The other guy has turned his Zeltbahn into a poncho, like in the left-hand illustration in Reibert’s 1940 manual “Der Dienstunterricht im Heere“. Next to him hangs a Feldfernsprecher 33 field telephone and a gas mask case, the phone nailing the impression that this is an observation post. The position looks anything but comfortable…

Here’s a colorized version of the photo. The field telephone is the dark brown case under the tan cardboard box, right under the center of the photo. A phone wire (not visible) connects the observers with their company, or maybe an artillery battery.

A happy couple

I really like this photo. The Unteroffizier oozes rakish self-confidence, looking pretty pleased with himself, while his girlfriend looks a bit timid. On the back of the photo is written in pencil “Am Kriegsjahr 1942” (“In the war year 1942”). He has been awarded the Kriegsverdienstkreuz – the War Merit Cross – which was issued for service behind the front aiding the war effort. It was referred to by frontline troops as the Kantinenorden – the Order of the Canteen – and didn’t generate the same respect the Iron Cross did.

If he had a cushy job behind the front, he might have survived the war. 1942 was the year when it slowly became evident that the war wouldn’t be over any time soon. The following year saw several serious setbacks for the Germans: Stalingrad, El Alamein, and so on. There was a chronic shortage of NCOs at the front, so the man in the photo might have found himself in the heat of battle. Did he survive? Did they reunite after the war? Did they marry? No one knows. All we know is that they had at least that day, where they could look happy for the camera.

I amused myself with using the colorization website I posted about earlier. Here we can appreciate her floral pattern blouse or jacket, and the colors of the potted plants. His uniform turned out rather well, even if there’s a bit too much blue. The color might shorten the distance to 1942 a bit.

Hare today, gone tomorrow

Social distancing, WW2 style. Always keep at least 18 hares between you and other people. These two Luftwaffe soldiers appear to have had some successful hunting, shooting or snaring enough hares to provide fresh meat for days. If the opportunity arose to get fresh meat to add to the daily rations, soldiers grabbed it with enthusiasm. While a soldier was to have 250 grams of fresh meat a day, it was very much a question of supply. Beef, pork and mutton could be bought or requisitioned from local farmers (usually in the form of live animals), but the realities of war made that rare when some areas had been picked over again and again. Game (deer, hares, wild fowl, etc.) was preferable over some old horse killed in the latest shelling by Soviet artillery. That’s why the guys in the photo look pretty pleased with themselves.

Son of the city

In an office in the city hall of Ludwigshafen am Rhein, Major Wilhelm Wagner writes his name in “the Golden Book”, a tome dedicated to important visitors and prominent citizens. He has been awarded the coveted Ritterkreuz – the Knight’s Cross – for his leadership during the heavy fighting on the Eastern Front. His hairline makes him look older than his 28 years, but this was a time which could age men prematurely. Wagner was born in Ludwigshafen on 8 September 1915. He grew up during the tumultuous years following the First World War, political unrest and economic hardship influencing his childhood and teens, and joined the Reichswehr when it was about to expand after Hitler’s rise to power. Not very much is known about him other than his military service, and it appears like he had a quiet life after the war, probably a civilian career after release from a Soviet prisoner of war camp in the early 1950s.

The photo was part of a lot I bought on eBay, and as usual, the good members of the Axis History Forum helped me in identifying the man and to decipher the scrawl on the back. It says:

Major b. Eintrag ins Gold. buch
der Stadt Ludwigshafen/Rh.

It seems like his branch of service was the artillery, and that he served at the front from at least the start of Operation Barbarossa. He was awarded the Iron Cross, 2nd and 1st class. As Oberleutnant (1st Lieutenant) in II. Abteilung/Artillerie-Regiment 129 of the 129. Infanterie-Division, he must’ve made quite an impression, as he was awarded the Deutsches Kreuz in Gold on 10 February 1944. It was probably for acts during 1943, as he appears to have risen in rank during the winter of 1943-44. Sometime during this time, he was promoted to Hauptmann (Captain), and transferred from the 129. Infanterie-Division to the 58. Infanterie-Division in Army Group North, where he became the commanding officer of II./Artillerie-Regiment 158. There was a lot of heavy fighting along the front, and the Artillerie-Regiment 158 wasn’t spared:

The heavy defensive and retreat battles continued until mid-January 1944 and ended in the Ssweblo Lake area. Here the regiment could catch a breath before moving to Pleskau at the end of January in order to secure the Luga-Pleskau retreat road. Heavy forest battles occurred north of Pljassa and Strugi-Krassyje. The 58. Infanterie-Division was encircled and had to fight its way divided into battle groups. The artillery regiment reassembled in the Wesenberg area and was refreshed. The regiment’s bicycle company was disbanded in February 1944. The regiment was reinstated in February 1944. The regiment arrived to Tallinn, where it served as a reserve unit for various divisions.

It was during this bitter fighting that Wilhelm Wagner showed courage and leadership, enough to earn him a recommendation for the Ritterkreuz des Eisernen Kreuzes. He was awarded the medal on 11 April 1944, and it appears like he was promoted to Major at the same time. Wagner also got leave to visit his home city, where he signed the Golden Book. The remaining twelve months saw the Division involved in heavy defensive fighting, until it was destroyed in April 1945. Some troops managed to escape to the West, but the majority of the survivors went into Soviet captivity.

Wilhelm Wagner passed away aged 78 years on 4 July 1994 in Grünstadt, just west of Ludwigshafen.

 

Thanks to Axis history Forum members Ruslan M, nichte and Hohlladung for invaluable help in the preparation of this post.

Heil to the chief

It’s the 20th of April and the Führergeburtstag – the Führer’s birthday. It’s an overcast, windy day in a small town somewhere in Germany, where Hitler’s birthday is celebrated with speeches, music and parades. The same ceremony takes place in thousands of towns and villages all over the Third Reich. The cult extolling the leader calls for a national holiday celebrating the birth of Hitler in Austria in 1889. Here, the local Nazi Party leadership, boys from the Hitlerjugend, girls from Bund der Deutschen Mädel, about half a Reichsarbeitsdienst Abteilung, and the good citizens of the town have gathered to celebrate the man with the mustache.

In addition to speeches about the greatness of the Leader and his role in history, anti-Semitic hate speech was the order of the day. It was also common to sing National Socialist songs, so-called “songs of the movement”, and the national anthem as the official hymn and the “Horst Wessel Lied” as the unofficial hymn.

Two bakers hold a sign which says “Long live the Leader!”, while the BDM girls and HJ boys, some of them accepted into the organizations the night before, stand in a somewhat ragged formation. Behind the baker on the left is a small shrine with an official portrait of Hitler. I might be projecting, but I get the impression that many of the attendees are there because it’s expected of them. It wouldn’t do to not be seen there, or there would be rumors that so-and-so isn’t a proper believer in the Leader and the Cause.

The last time Hitler’s birthday was celebrated was in 1945, when his Reich was falling apart, assaulted from both West and East. By then, only the most fanatical Nazis believed in the final victory. The rest braced themselves for the coming peace.

 

The top photo is colorized.

Reading material

It’s 9 August 1939. Five soldiers, by all appearances reservists in their 40s, read the latest news in a street in Weiler, just west of Bingen am Rhein, Rheinland-Pfalz. Maybe the newspapers write about the worsening diplomatic situation versus Poland. Their Daimler-Benz truck has the license plates used by the Kreishauptmannschaft Dresden-Bautzen and Polizeipräsidium Dresden. They appear to be ordinary Heer soldiers, but for some reason, their uniforms lack the collar Litzen and the regimental numbers on the shoulder boards. Only one of them has the eagle on the uniform tunic. At least two soldiers wear medal ribbons, a Long Service Award among them. Their incomplete uniforms are a bit of a mystery, and I’ll update this post if any light is shed on the issue.

 

Speaking of reading, I’ve become a subscriber of the new Iron Cross Magazine. While visiting London last summer, I was browsing the shelves of a newsagent. Among the familiar military history titles was a new one I didn’t recognize. “Iron Cross?” I thought skeptically, imagining something speculative for Third Reich fanboys. I skimmed through the 132 pages in full color, and realized that nothing could be further from the truth. Here was an ambitious new publication covering all aspects of German military history 1914-45, which is best summed up in their own words:

Iron Cross puts the German military under the microscope; looking at organisations and tactics, as well as at materiel, technology, politics and the more personal and human elements of the German serviceman’s experience. The content covers the land, sea and air war across all periods of both wars. To a more limited extent, it covers the inter-war period in Germany between 1919 and 1939.

The magazine isn’t cheap, but I’ve found almost all articles interesting, throwing light on aspects that other magazines tend to ignore. This is a publication for those with a deeper interest in the German army of the first half of the 20th century; if you’re expecting the standard articles that you’ve read a million times already in the popular history magazines, you’ll be pleasantly surprised. The articles, which are about evenly divided between World War 1 and 2 subjects, are very well researched and written, providing in-depth information without becoming too academic. There’s only one drawback, and that’s that the first four print issues are sold out, but they are available in digital format. Look here for how to subscribe.

Color me surprised!

A friend sent me a link to a website, where you can colorize your black and white photos. I tried it, with varying results. The software is developed to interpret different shades of grey (surely more than 50) as colors. Somehow, it has problems handling the green-grey of German uniforms, usually turning them blue-grey or a reddish brown, sometimes both shades on the same uniform. When it works, it produces nice results, a few of which I’ve posted here. While I’m skeptical to colorization of photos in books and documentaries, when it’s done right by people who know what the original items looked like, it can enhance the viewing experience. When done badly, it just looks sloppy and cheap. You can find the Deep AI colorizer here. It’s free, so why not give it a spin?

Some reddish hues that shouldn’t be there, but not too shabby.

Here, the grey hues of mid-war uniforms have translated well.

The rusty brown of a burned-out tank is probably the best thing with this photo.

I love how the software managed to capture the different colors of the Zeltbahnen.

The original photo for comparison.

The brown hue on the caps is off, but otherwise it’s pretty good.

This one turned out really nice.

Looks almost like it’s an original color photo.

 

The more, the merrier

A squad of Luftwaffe soldiers is crammed inside a tent made from the ubiquitous Zeltbahn that was part of every soldier’s field equipment. The Zeltbahn shelter halves were triangular pieces of camouflage cloth, which could be used as rain ponchos, camo ponchos, ground sheets, temporary camouflage for foxholes and equipment, or as protection from the elements, either singly or with two or more buttoned together to create shelters or tents. They could also be used for flotation devices or as part of makeshift stretchers. In the photo above, eight pieces have been used to make an 8-man tent. Sometimes, it was used to wrap the body of a dead soldier before he has buried.

The basic use of the Zeltbahn as shelter, as demonstrated in Reibert’s 1940 manual “Der Dienstunterricht im Heere“. In the picture on the left, a single Zeltbahn has been attached to a tree in order to provide cover for one solder. Pegs, rope and a sectioned pole were kept in a separate bag, and used in the picture on the right, where two Zeltbahnen have been buttoned together to create better protection against wind and rain. Never underestimate the usefulness of a piece of weather-proofed cloth in the field.

Hospitalized

In these times, all too many people have to stay in hospitals. In times of crisis, be it a war or a pandemic, good medical care is the difference between life and death. During WW2, the sciences of medicine and surgery had made progress since the previous world war, and wounded or sick soldiers had a better chance of survival. Still, cases that can be treated today were all too often terminal back then. There were life-savers, though, like antibiotics that hadn’t been available just years earlier. Sulfa (sulfonamide) was a German invention made in the 1930s, and reduced the risk of wounds turning septic. In the field, the sulfa powder was kept in small satchels and sprinkled on wounds before bandages were applied. The even more effective penicillin was discovered by the British scientist Alexander Fleming, and introduced as an antibiotic in 1942. It saved the lives of many thousands of Allied soldiers, but the Germans had no access to it.

In the photo, three soldiers are convalescing in a hospital. I can’t make out the name of the soldiers to the right, but the one in the middle is Schütze (rifleman) Gerhard Aussem. I haven’t found any file on him being killed or missing in action at Volksbund, which indicates that he probably survived the war. The nearest man, Gefreiter (private) Anton Kress, might not have been so lucky. A soldier of that name is listed as missing in action since 1 January 1945, with no trace of him after the fighting for the Weichsel bridgehead. As he was born on 30 April 1916, the man in the bed could be him. We’ll never know.

My own experience of a military hospital hails back to 1987. It was in early March, if I remember correctly, and our company was about to spend a few days in the field. I felt queasy and sure enough, I had caught stomach flu. After throwing up a couple of times, I was sent to the regimental hospital, a building from the mid-1920s. I was put in a bed and given some medicine. When I woke up next morning, I felt weak and dehydrated. The bed was probably from the 1940s, and everything was blurry as my glasses were on the table next to it. The radio played a song from WW2, and in my befuddled state I was convinced that it was 1941 and that I had been a volunteer in the Winter War in Finland, got wounded, and was in a hospital behind the frontlines. The hallucination kept on for maybe 20 seconds before I returned to 1987. It was one of the most bizarre experiences of my life, and one that makes me feel a certain affinity with the patients in the photo.

Just resting

OK, OK, I know. I haven’t posted in a while, and I feel kind of bad about it. I have tons of photos good enough to post, but it’s writing the texts that requires inspiration and some work. That inspiration is slowly coming back, and you’ll see more posts from now on.

The sleeping Spieβ in the photo has some signs of a busy (well) company sergeant major: the two rings on his cuff, the papers kept in the cuff (a popular spot for keeping documents and maps), and the flashlight buttoned to the front of his coat. True soldiers can sleep everywhere, anytime. Perhaps there’s a lengthy halt in the march into enemy territory, where tired soldiers have the opportunity to catch a few z’s.