Leichte Sprache
DGSOnce upon a time, two little boys were standing on the corner of a street. It was summer, the year was 1936 and the place was Charlottenburg in Berlin. The Olympic Games were taking place close to where they lived.
The elder boy, six years old, the younger brother four, tired of playing catch in their garden, had gone to the end of the next street to theirs to watch all the foreign cars heading for the stadium. Foreign cars were a rare sight in the German capital three years into the Third Reich. Their mother had given them special permission to go. “Just to the corner of the next street – no further”, she had said.
A clear blue sky complemented the brightness of the summer day as the brother watched and counted the strangers’ cars. Two from Czechoslovakia, a Skoda and a Tatra, was it? Three French, that was easy, just a big F beside the back number plate. A Belgian with a B, England with GB for Großbritannien and so on.
The younger boy was getting fidgety, he was a little bored with this game, standing in the bright sunlight exchanging blinks with the foreign windscreens, when out of nowhere a dark shadow fell across them. Out of Nowhere, it seemed, an enormous Schupo (Schutzpolizist), a policeman, was towering over them. Smiling, he asked: “Seid ihr Juden – are you Jews?”
Taken aback the younger brother looked to his sibling to reply. What he was going to say? Would there be trouble? What about the “Uncle” sleeping in the cellar and those men in Trilbys and Raincoats with their leather briefcases? The older boy, tongue on bottom lip, decided that the truth was best and took the plunge. “Ja”, he mumbled.
Whereupon the giant ‘Schupo’, looking down the busy road, spied an ice-cream vendor on his three-wheeler – a big box between the front wheels, swimming in the international traffic. He blew his whistle and hailed him to the kerb, momentarily holding up the flow of foreigners. The vendor arrived and, breathless in a cloud of spiralling dust, said, “Ja, Herr Schupo, was kann ich für Sie tun – yes, Mr. Policeman, what can I do for you?“ – “Show me your biggest bar of milk chocolate”, and turning to the boys he confirmed, “you do like Milchschokolade, don’t you?” – “Ja, ja”, a joint affirmative whisper, both nervously scratching in the groin.
The Schupo then bought them the biggest bar of milk chocolate they had ever seen and patting them both on the head said, “There, take it home and enjoy it.” The bewildered brothers, with a whispered “danke”, ran all the way home clutching their gift and told their mother of their adventure.
“Mutti, Mutti, look what the big Schupo bought for us – can we eat it, it isn’t poisoned, is it?”
We ate it!
Once upon a time.
A long time ago – but I shan’t forget it!