It was time to get back to school. Classes took place only provisionally at first, and with the old teachers from the “old days” – whether Nazi or not – they were good teachers. Most of the younger teachers had not yet returned from captivity. For me, school took place in barracks, as the actual school buildings were damaged and used for other purposes. Classrooms were furnished with old kitchen tables and impractical desks, where students had difficulty finding space for their legs – school furniture had obviously been burned in winter. Our Latin teacher at the time, whom I already knew from wartime, had a special quirk. At the start of the class, he always opened the door with extra force, and we had to jump up and stand up straight while raising our arms in the German salute with a “Heil Hitler”. He only skipped the former “clicking of heels”. If the ceremony didn’t happen to his satisfaction, he left the room and repeated the salute for as long as he deemed to be necessary and ended the scenario with a loud “sit down”.
After the war, of course, that had all changed. “Good morning, gentlemen, please sit down.” Somehow, I was one of the unfortunate ones who had to sit at one of those horrible desks with a sold side panel. I had to sit sideways to stretch my legs. “Hühner, sit up straight.” I had no idea how to react and responded like we used to do during the war. He corrected me immediately because from now, we were only to respond with a simple “yes”. But I answered again and again the way we used to not too long ago. I don’t remember how long I played that game. Anyway, he obviously got angry, walked up to me and raised his hand as if he wanted to hit me. That was no longer acceptable to me. So, I took his raised arm, pushed it down and explained the problem of sitting at the side of this table. Then, I packed my school bag. “What are you doing?” I explained that I would go home now. He screamed a few times, “You will stay here!”, but I left. Not even the yelling and threat of being expelled from school kept me in that class.
At home, I reported the story immediately to our mother, who still remembered the teacher’s behaviour in the old days. The next day, she was with me at school and planted herself in front of the teacher – with all the students and teachers present. She waved her finger in front of his nose and made herself very clear. I heard several times, “You old Nazi, you!”. The students giggled, the teachers looked a bit depressed, and I had to go to the school principal the next day. We called him “Papa Grabsch” and admired him for his kindness and correct behaviour. We talked about the incident, and I apologised. After that, our Latin teacher was not exactly friendly with me, but he always graded me according to my performance until he left his teaching post not much later that year.