Only hours ago I mentioned this to clarify to the reader who I am, but I mention it again, not to remind the reader, but as a lead-in to a discussion on the pronunciation of the name, 'Schroeder.'
Back on the farm in North Dakota, my dad's family referred to themselves as (pronunciation follows) "Shraders".
When my dad left the farm, he referred to himself as a "Shroder", believing this pronunciation to be more in line with the spelling. I was also, therefore, a "Shroder".
For much of my life, and especially since coming to Europe, which I have spent mostly in the southern part, I have had to tell people how to pronounce my name. I remember a few of these times in great detail.
A girl in Glasgow, Scotland, back when I was a sailor, had said I had a foreign name, and I'd had to pronounce it for her.
A policeman in Ensenada, Mexico, also back when I was a sailor, when calling my name out from the door of a jail cell, had had a difficult time pronouncing it, and I had helped him to pronounce it correctly.
Customers at my hot dog stand in Portalegre, Portugal, when reading my vendor's license out of boredom while waiting for a hot dog, had struggled with the name, and while asking the customer I was then serving what he wanted on his hot dog, I had paused just long enough to pronounce my surname for the others who were behind him.
It went something like this:
"Chili? Grilled peppers? Onions? Schroeder, it's Schroeder. Ketchup?..."
In some places I've been, it's been enough to help people to pronounce my first name, Ken, and we've never made it to my second name. In Egypt, for example.
But now in Germany, people are telling me how to pronounce my surname.
"Hallo, ich bin Ken Schroeder (Shroder)."
"Schroeder (Shroder)....? Ach, so! Schroeder (Shruydeh)!"
So (zo), I am Shruydeh.
As we're speaking about the German language now-- and this is a characteristic of a rambler, to believe that 'we' are speaking about something when it is an 'I' who is speaking-- yet, though I am aware of this error, I like to imagine that it is we who are speaking-- so, zo, as we're speaking about the German language now, I would like to point out that though I know only a few words and phrases in German, I have a Köln accent. I find it difficult to pronounce the 'ch' with that airy, back of the throat sound, so I pronounce it as 'sh', as in Ish bin Shruydeh, and apparently people in Köln also say 'Ish' rather than... the other way. And Köln is only 50 kilometers away. So...zo... Ish bin proud to say that Ish habe eine Cologne accent. Gut.
Furthermore, as we were speaking about the name, 'Schroeder', I will briefly tell (really) the story about the Schroeder brothers who came to America from Germany back around 1850 or so. It was a nationalistic time in Germany, and they were facing army conscription, and they stowed away on a ship to America, which took them all the way through canals and whatnot through the Great Lakes to Wisconsin. The draft dodging 'Schraders' then settled later in North Dakota.
I told you it would be brief.
Anyway, when I first heard this story, as a kid, I was a little ashamed, not that the brothers had stowed away on a ship-- I'd thought that was pretty adventurous-- but that they'd run away from army conscription, even if it was German army conscription. Now, though, I like to brag about it. If everyone followed the example of my German ancestors, refusing to be sucked into a nationalistic or ideological frenzy, wherever that frenzy may be, we wouldn't have so many scenes in the world like the ones pictured below.
So, just before writing this, my second post in one day, which is a first for me regarding blogs-- when I'm on a roll I usually write one post a week, and I often only write one post a month-- but as it's a rambling affair, I could probably just write this as one endless post, stream of consciousness style, but that would be exhausting, not so much for me, but for you, so I'll limit it to two posts... where was I ?
Ah, yes, just before sitting down to write this latest post, I was in the backyard, smoking my sixth cigarette of the day, and looking at the sky, and imagining what it must have been like to look at the sky back in the autumn of 1944, when it would have been full of Allied bombers. I was imagining this because I had previously been reading about the history of the area I am now in, and I had read that the town of Jülich, only seven kilometers away, had been destroyed by Allied bombing in World War 2. To quote from Wikipedia:
On 16 November 1944 (World War II), 97% of Jülich was destroyed during Allied bombing, since it was considered one of the main obstacles to the occupation of the Rhineland, although the city fortifications, the bridge head and the citadel had long fallen into disuse. The ruined city was subject to heavy fighting for several months until the Allies eventually managed to cross the Rur on 23 February 1945. Newsreel footage exists of Supreme Commander Eisenhower at the southern entrance to the citadel.
Ninety seven percent destroyed.
I've been to that southern entrance of the citadel where Supreme Commander Eisenhower stood, while taking a peaceful walk with Elke.
Earlier, while walking Bella the dog, and smoking my fourth cigarette of the day on the downwind side of the line of trees separating the sugar beet field from the potato field, and just before conceiving the idea for this blog, I had been looking at the fields around me and wondering if this scene,
which is of an American soldier running past a burning German tank near Aldenhoven in December of 1944, had occurred anywhere near where I was standing.
And the next time I go into Aldenhoven's center, about 2 minutes away on my bicycle, I will wonder whether I am cycling where this scene took place,
when US Army soldiers were in Aldenhoven, also in December of 1944.
I wonder if that bombed house isn't where the MacDonald's is now.
Finally, here is a photo of Jülich back in 1945.
I don't have to wonder or imagine about this photo, as I've been down that street a few times already. I recognize the tower, which is still there. Maybe that's the three per cent of Jülich that wasn't destroyed.
Hats off to my German ancestors, the Schroeder (Shruydeh) brothers.
No comments:
Post a Comment