Continued from A World in Chaos (and dedicated to Yry’s birthday) Through a Swedish business contact, Yry’s father arranged to have care packages smuggled into Berlin from Sweden. Each week, he gave Yry $200 for supplies. She’d trudge to the store, often pushing Joan’s pram and loading it with non-perishable foods, warm clothes, and blankets. Back at the flat, she boxed everything up to ship overseas, some to England and some to Germany. Then off to the Post Office she went—all without the use of a car. Sometimes she used a two-wheeled shopping cart, which worked well while the weather was good. But jerking or pushing that load through snowy, icy streets was a challenge.
Years later, mother told stories about those grueling shopping trips. She would gaze at her hands and remember her fingers—cracked and split from wrangling cardboard boxes, folding and cutting paper, and wrapping string around each box. The packages she couldn’t fit into the shopping cart, dangled from sore fingers.
In my youthful arrogance I’d dismissed much of what she said, judging her descriptions of bloody fingers as hyperbole. Having seen her fly off the handle in histrionic fits of rage, I mistrusted her penchant for drama. By the time I realized how important, how real her stories were, it was too late. Between my inattention and the holes in my memory large enough to devour planet, I’ve spent the much of my adult life grieving the loss of details I once had such easy access to.
Fortunately, she was a hoarder and a compulsive list keeper. Scattered through her things after she died, were lists she’d scribbled in the margins of junk mail, the backs of envelopes and bank statements. She had lists of lists; and they hid from her inside shoe boxes, folders, books, bags, and purses. During that period of post-war mailings, my mom kept fastidious records of what she purchased for the relatives. Partly she was accounting to her father how she’d spent his money. But she also listed the contents of each box to compare with what actually arrived. She followed each mailing with a letter listing all the items she’d sent. At both ends of the transaction, the family marveled at what survived layers of hunger, temptation, and sheer larceny along the journey. Often two thirds of what left New York City, disappeared before reaching its destination.
This passage from a letter dated, 24 June 1947 is a typical accounting of goods gratefully received.
Received the wonderful gift parcel that was mailed 13 May from New York. It arrived on 20 June. Inside: 1 pound rice, 1 pound bacon, 5.5 ounces Pate e Foie, egg powder, coffee, chicken spread, 1 pound honey, Mazola oil, Spam, Cocoa mix, black tea, Kraft American cheese, Boneless chicken, and nuts. Many thanks for sending it. It is nearly impossible to get anything eatable or otherwise from the shops here these days.
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Karen Krause said:
Fascinating life of trials, adventure, unique style….powerful.
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rangewriter said:
Thanks, always Karen. Have a marvelous holiday.
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Glenda Hornig said:
Happy Birthday Yri, and thanks for visiting my dreams last night. It was good seeing you! Spooky, huh Linda! We all knew she was an amazing lady, just not how amazing at the time….
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rangewriter said:
Did she really? That would really be spooky. At least she didn’t pick Oct. 31st. That was her favorite holiday, you know! Yeah, I was pretty darn disdainful of her. I have only my own hubris to blame for that.
Funny, I’ve been having some strange dreams lately, too. Not bad, really but just odd…with people from the past. Although, typically, I can’t remember any of them now.
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auntyuta said:
Were these parcels sent during the Berlin blockade?
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Berlin_Blockade
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rangewriter said:
Yes, Auntyuta, I believe they were smuggled in during the blockade. After the blockade they were shipped by normal means. Actually, Aunt Nelly and Uncle Willy later left Berlin and lived in Langen with the rest of the family. The package shipments went on for several years after the end of the war, although not as frequently.
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auntyuta said:
You say, Yry, your mother, was a hoarder and compulsive list keeper. It is interesting because of this you are now able to find out things about her life you probably could not know all that well from remembering what she may have told you.
I think it helps these records help enormously to get a picture about what life was like before our time.
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rangewriter said:
You’re absolutely right, Auntyuta. When I say my mother was a hoarder, I mean it through and through. We had to dump 7 giant dumpsters full of stuff from her house. Things that had to go were coupons that had been saved (& expired) for over 20 years, cans, tins, packages of food that were well beyond their expiration dates and even the food bank wanted nothing to do with them. The list goes on. I took precious little home with me. I don’t believe my sister took a lot home with her. We gave away something like 7 sets of china to friends and extended family. We donated clothes that had belonged to my grandmother and linens used by my grandmother’s maids to the university drama department. Among the few things I took home were 2 large boxes of letters and photos. Two of probably 10 that existed. Keeping things is both a blessing and a curse. Those 2 boxes have proved a rich blessing.
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auntyuta said:
I wonder what happened to the other 8 boxes? It is truly amazing, how one person can accumulate so much ‘stuff’ .
According to my daughter Caroline, I and probably Peter too, ought to get rid of a lot of things. I am sure, she is right. But wanting to get rid of stuff and actually doing something about it, is something totally different. And I find with every year it gets a bit more difficult to get on top of it all! 🙂
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rangewriter said:
My sister may have taken some or all of the other boxes. Schedules and personalities had us working on emptying the house in shifts. We don’t communicate well, so I’ve never asked what she kept from the enormous pile of things I left for her to sift through before tossing or giving away.
Didn’t you and Peter move into a smaller place a few years ago? I thought I remembered some posts in which you were trading large pieces of furniture for smaller.
It is easy to slide into the hoarding syndrome. After clearing my mother’s house, I vowed to not save things “just because.” I did pretty well for a few years, but every now and then I look around and see collections of boxes or kitchen storage tubs or who knows what. And I think sentimentality makes it even more difficult to part with things that remind us of a person or a time gone by. And you put your finger on the overall problem. It gets more difficult each year to stay on top of it all. 😦
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auntyuta said:
Linda here I told how some furniture and books were discarded:
https://auntyuta.com/2016/02/
So this was in February of 2016 when Caroline and Matthew moved in with us for a while.
You say that keeping things is both a blessing and a curse. I dream of sizing down a bit more, however I also keep thinking some of the collected stuff might become invaluable if some of my descendants set themselves the task of writing about the lives of their ancestors!
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rangewriter said:
The decisions are so difficult. And I’m sure your and Peter’s story will be utterly fascinating to your descendants (and friends) once they’re old enough to realize it. Therein lies the rub. We are all usually too slow recognizing the value of our elders’ stories.
Frankly, I’d love to see a book from the posts you’ve written on your blog. The material is rich and well written. I’d buy the book!
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auntyuta said:
I am honoured, Linda, that you say so. But where to start? There are never enough hours in the day. Maybe with plenty of help I could achieve something. The other day I listened to Peter’s and my voices that a very skillful woman had recorded for the National Library of Australia! Have a look at this, Linda:
The recording took place in 2013. It took me more than five years before I finally had the courage to listen to my own voice and to Peter’s voice. I do not think we could have done it without the help of Frances. She was fantastic!
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rangewriter said:
This is great Auntyuta, but I was hoping to find a link to the actual recording. Did you send one and I somehow overlooked it?
Linda
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auntyuta said:
Peter and I each have a CD from the National Library in Canberra.
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auntyuta said:
https://outlook.live.com/owa/?path=/mail/inbox/rp
Peter sent me the above link. I don’t whether this would help you to reach the recordings of the National Library. Sorry,, Linka, we don’t know how to do it properly.
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rangewriter said:
Oh well, Thanks for trying. That link didn’t work either. I guess I’ll have to travel to Australia to hear your interview! 😉
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auntyuta said:
Sorry, Linda, that it doesn’t work. However travelling to Australia is a great idea! 🙂
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auntyuta said:
Here one last try:
https://catalogue.nla.gov.au/Record/6218902?lookfor=Uta%20Hannemann&offset=1&max=1
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rangewriter said:
Ahh. This got me much closer, but it doesn’t appear that there is an online way to listen to the recording. I guess I must wait till I’m in Australia and order the recording from the library. But what a wonderful project you and Peter were a part of. I looked at the other recording titles and I can see that this project will provide historical context for decades to come. Bravo to you both for being a part of it.
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Keith said:
Linda, the two things that jump out are the bloody fingers and the need to account for her spending. To me, that shows accountability and responsibility, two traits the greatest generation had in spades.
I feel your anguish for not remembering. What seemed unimportant is now rued as a lost memory. I connected with this brief vignette. Thanks, Keith
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rangewriter said:
Thank you for sharing your observations. Yes, the greatest generation…how miserably ours has measured up. 😦
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Otto von Münchow said:
I think there are many of us who may recognize your relationship to your mother as you describe it her. Maybe it is indeed youthful arrogance. I, for one, certainly could be accused of being that in my relationship to my other. Good for you then, that you have been able to understand more later through your mother’s writings.
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rangewriter said:
Otto you read with such great insight. Before my mother died, I had already begun to understand the depth of my youthful arrogance to some degree. However, that recognition never translated into an easier relationship with her. There are some relationships and communication situations the still pitch me right back into the angry little girl responses…which always, upon later reflection, leave me disappointed with myself. It is good to know that I’m not alone in my immaturity. But I wish that by this age, I could show more improvement. And I really wish that I could have shown more appreciation when my mother was still alive.
Thanks, as always, for your thoughtful reading and kind responses.
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Sue Birnbaum said:
Linda, this is a powerful post in many ways. I agree with Keith’s comment about the greatest generation. I appreciate your reminding us of important history and the suffering of so many people. You help to prevent these facts from becoming lost – they are heart-wrenching. And it must be painful that you are “grieving the loss of details” of what your mom told you. I guess that’s human nature? This has inspired me to record my mom’s stories and not take her life for granted – to “honor” her like you do your mom.
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rangewriter said:
It’s very kind of you to heap such praise on this post. I felt it a little dull– more or less transitional material for what will follow. But it helps to see it through fresh eyes.
I do encourage you to record anything your mom can muster up. You may not get to it for many more years, but when the time comes (and I suspect it will) you will be happy to have her first person perspective on things that happened before you were born, or even after you were born. Everyone’s reality is filtered through a different lens, as you know.
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