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Chapter 4: Last Years of School

4.1. Last Years of School, Part I

During the last three years at school, I had the doubtful pleasure of having my English classes with the quite old but still hale Ms Rust. Ms Rust was an extremely resolute lady who lost her patience very quickly and could get rather hysterical. When she was younger, she had spent several years in England, and a large part of her knowledge was based on these years.Even today, I still have to think of her when it's pouring down with rain; she would have said: ‘It’s raining cats and dogs’. She was quite happy to give us a rap on the knuckles or sit us in front of the door. English class was something that I profoundly detested, though it really had nothing to do with the language itself.
     For my birthday in June, I almost always invited my best friends: Michael, Uwe and Päule. My mother always baked me the same cake: a seasonal strawberry tart which we would always devour with the same enjoyment in just a number of minutes. And so it was on my tenth birthday. It was a beautiful summer's day, just suited to play outside after coffee and cake. The fruit trees in our field a way up the road provided an ideal playground. And so we climbed the trees and had nothing better to do than to happily throw the fruits, which were still unripe, at one another. A neighbour must have seen us thus engaged, and, appalled, informed my parents. To this day, I can remember noticing my father as he stormed up the road to come and pick us one by one from the trees. He immediately sent my friends home and gave me a sound spanking on the spot.
     I developed another passion that became more and more intense — painting! First I just painted different comic strip characters, but soon there were also my own ideas. I painted the angled wall in my room, from top to bottom, with themes inspired by the animal world. Later, my parents bought me an easel, and I went on to make paintings with oils, which then often used up most of my pocket money. In this way, I had found a means for recording my impressions from books visually, and to transform many of my dreams into something tangible. One of my pictures pleased one of Dietmar's friends so much that he had to buy it and he paid me 55 deutschmarks for it. For the first time, I had made money off of my talent, and this quite naturally motivated me to complete further projects. Word of my talent got around, and so, in a year, I created four more ethno-surrealist paintings to sell. This success filled my small savings with unexpected money, which I naturally used in order to acquire more reading material.
     In the autumn of 1972, practical training courses were organized by the schools in cooperation with the trade commission to prepare students for their later working lives. I had decided to spend my two weeks with the local newspaper, the Lippischen Landeszeitung. It wasn't that I really wanted to become a printer or a typesetter, but I couldn't think of anything better, and since it had something to do with art and pictures, even if only remotely, and another one of my classmates had decided to do it, then the choice was clear. At the printers, we were shown what typesetting and a printing plate were, what screen dots were good for, why a colour print is only made out of three colours plus black, etc.
     Then we were also allowed to marvel at the rotary printing machines at work, and to also see how small business cards were printed. At the time, I could not foresee that this hands-on training would later influence my choice of occupation.
     One afternoon, we were deciphering an old topographic map, which probably belonged to Wolfhard. It showed the detailed infrastructure and the outlines of the Isle of Man, an island somewhere far away, somewhere far beyond our imagination. Island always sounds exotic, and so we imagined what life on the Isle of Man must have been like. We followed the streets with our finger, envisioned the beaches, and asked ourselves what colour skin the natives may have there...

4.2. Seventh Dream Flight: Tea Leaves

October 1988
 It's warm in the cosy room. The small wood fireplace does its best to transform the cold, ocean air into comforting warmth. Today I'm visiting Nanny Leece, Julie's grandmother, for the first time. I met Julie in Luxembourg in a typically English pub, the Pub in the Grund. Without losing much time, our acquaintance developed into a more serious relationship — serious enough for me to come along with Julie on her next trip back home to the Isle of Man.
     And now we are sitting here in Nanny's small room in her small council house. The room is dark, with only a little light shining from a small lamp. The flickering of the fire creates a wonderful mood. Even though she's 80 years old, Nanny Leece makes us a hot Faery Bridge tea. Nanny is a wonderful lady, radiating an amazing peace that is contagious. She asks Julie about her work in Luxembourg and about her life there, wants to know where we met each other — the typical question-and-answer routine between close relatives. We drink the tea quickly, and Nanny swiftly takes away Julie's empty cup, so as to look into it from different angles by the light of the fire. Then she asks Julie to turn her cup three times on her plate, and then to tap the golden porcelain rim several times with her finger. Then everything seems to be right. ‘You have a long future together and will always be happy.’ She reads all of this in the tea leaves at the bottom of the cup. I can hardly contain my surprise, and first think that it's a joke, but then I quickly notice that both she and Julie are very serious. Then, both of their faces show obvious satisfaction. It has already grown late, so we warmly wish her goodnight, since tomorrow we will already be making our journey back home — home to Luxembourg.

4.3. Last Years of School, Part II

After all the students had finished their hands-on training and we had all met back at school again, it was interesting to hear that many of the students, at least that is what it sounded like, had in fact made up their minds about potential occupations. Also, our classmate Ronny had decided to take up a professional internship. Since it was unlikely that he would ever graduate, particularly since he was already older than most of the other pupils in the class, he could begin a few months later as a trainee with the company, even without having graduated, as a roofer assistant.
     Just a few days before the end of the final school year, our teacher Hunneke delivered us the sad message that Ronny had had a fatal accident while doing roof work. He had fallen from the roof and had broken his neck.
     This tragedy didn't exactly encourage us to prepare for the seriousness of life, of working life. Deeply affected by this first experience with death, I was distressed and tried to suppress it, escaping further into the adventures of Winnetou and Old Shatterhand. The secondary school years passed and from Karl May I went to Stevenson's Treasure Island, Jack London's White Fang to Captain Bligh and Fletcher Christian's The Bounty Saga. Even though it was based on a true story, the latter fascinated me from the first page onwards...

4.4. Eighth Dream Flight: Bounty & Pitcairn
August 2000
     We get up especially early: ‘Five forty-five!’ the steward calls out. The Lido terraces have already opened. In front, near the bow, and from the upper deck, the view is ideal. The MS Deutschland pushes itself through the strong swells. Julie and I stand in front at the windows of the promenade deck and, spellbound, look through the morning fog. Thankfully, coffee, croissants, and biscuits have already been served. Not only is it early in the morning but we were also up late last night once again...
     One night in August 2000 in the Zum Alten Fritz, the bar on the MS Deutschland, didn't ever want to end. Not able to go to sleep yet, we eventually floated up to our suite after innumerable champagne cocktails. Our 10-year-old son, Charlton, was dreaming soundly and his light snoring was like a lullaby to me, so I finally fell asleep.
     There are only a few other passengers who are up on their feet like us, so we have the promenade almost entirely to ourselves. Shortly after 6 a.m., Sven and Eva show up in the front. These are two wonderful people who have, over the course of the journey, become dear friends to us, and with whom we share many of the same interests. Sven and Eva come just in time: a light shadow in the fog, the silhouette appears vaguely on the horizon, barely discernible. Minute by minute, it becomes more distinct, and then, there is no doubting it: Pitcairn! Despite the warm South Seas wind, I feel goose pimples under my shirt. I can hardly keep back my tears, and in Julie's eyes I see excitement and joy. We could still wake Charlton in time. I feel like Fletcher Christian, who led the mutiny on the HMS Bounty and who after a days-long search found the island, though his men thought it impossible, and made maritime history here. His descendants still live on the island today and are the reason for our visit.
     I immediately think back to my long nights as a schoolboy at home in Berlebeck. How many times did I force myself to stay awake, just to read only one more page of this exciting factual narrative, always promising that it would be the last of the evening, only to stay up to sometime after midnight, completely exhausted?
     I now feel as if I'm on a journey through time and space. On the one hand, back to my youth, and on the other, 15,000 kilometres away from home.
     The MS Deutschland slowly approaches its current destination; the waves seem like a mountain range around us. It will probably be almost impossible to land, so we can only hope that the Pitcairners will succeed in coming over to us by longboat. The island now lies ahead of us, not more than 250 metres away. The weather has cleared up visibly, and even the first sunbeams find their way through the clouds of the South Seas. Also, it has become noticeably more active on the ship. Many passengers are crowded at the railings, some are watching at a safe distance of the Lido windows. The captain announces over the loudspeaker that it's not possible to go ashore with the ship's own tender boats, because they are not built for such a load and the notorious surf. We are quite disappointed, but are comforted to learn that a large delegation from the island will be coming aboard the ship. I already feel somewhat better. And indeed, one hour later we can see a small boat in the enormous swells. Slowly, it comes ever nearer against the force of the waves, until it finally docks portside. With the sailors helping with the to and fro from the waves, the visitors are taken, one after another, on board, until they are all they before us. Among them, there's Tom Christian with his wife, Betty. Tom is a direct ancestor — the last male descendant — of Fletcher Christian. The feeling I have at this moment is very special. Reality and fiction are conflated.
     To my astonishment, the Pitcairners bring along dozens of crates and baskets with fresh fruits, vegetables and fish, like the Mahi-Mahi. This practice is common in this part of the Pacific. In exchange, they get a complete corner sofa and various other pieces of furniture from the shipping company. We can hardly believe it. It's almost unbelievable. And all of this is heaved from our ship to theirs with the swells at eight to nine wind forces, and seeing the sailors make the shipments under these conditions is sometimes like watching a circus. Sven and Eva have also brought small gifts for the Pitcairners, since they have already taken a trip here before.
     On the fifth deck, the islanders have put up a whole bazaar with many of their handicrafts, postal stamps from the island, T-shirts, and jewellery in the lobby area for people to buy. When will we have this opportunity again? So my family and I do good business. Later, we also have the pleasure of a presentation in the auditorium. Tom tells us about life on Pitcairn, and afterwards, the passengers are treated to an unforgettable singing performance from the islanders. Finally, Tom and Betty, along with Sven and Eva, join us for lunch. Tom again talks about life on the island and the hardships associated with it. Trade with the few cruise ships and the trading vessels is one of the Pitcairners' main sources of income. In addition, the international mail orders for stamps and the island's famous honey provide the islanders with additional foreign commerce. Tom himself also earns some money as a regional navigation radio pilot, and has already saved the lives of many sailors in this part of the Pacific.        
     The government of New Zealand always sends a teacher, a minister and nurse to the small island for two years. So they are also provided for on a spiritual and intellectual level. The teacher has come today, along with his wife, onto the MS Deutschland.
     After a lavish meal and many anecdotes, Tom and Betty bid us goodbye, but not without inviting me to come and visit the island longer sometime so that I can learn more about it and its inhabitants. I say, gladly, that I will someday. Then we stand at the railing for over an hour, waving back at the boat as it disappears behind the waves. Then the MS Deutschland takes our journey further on in the direction of Tahiti. In the evening, we find fresh Mahi-Mahi on the menu in the restaurant, recommended by the chef. And of course we were obliged to try it, because we saw the fish jump up on board ourselves. An awe-inspiring day has come to an end. Still late into the night in the Zum Alten Fritz, we recount each moment again and again with our new friends.

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